


only if for a night

by dgalerab



Series: a fix-it, but more [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Except The Kink Is Sex Without Guilt, Internalized Homophobia, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Now They Share An Apartment With Stanley And No One Is Dead, Richie Tozier is a Mess, They Defeated Pennywise At 18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-01 20:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20892752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dgalerab/pseuds/dgalerab
Summary: Richie and Eddie have been together for more than a year, and Richie is still having trouble allowing himself physical intimacy.Eddie tries to handle it gracefully.He does not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a mess but so are Richie and Eddie so I guess this is just how I live now.
> 
> If I've missed any tags, let me know. (I don't usually like to tag every single sex thing in the fic bc a. my memory is bad and I often forget what I've written and b. it really just clogs up the tags, but since there's some negotiation and iffiness in this fic, I can change that.)
> 
> I can only write smut in present tense but then as I started writing this I realized 90% of it isn't smut so I guess I just live like this now.

It takes Eddie thirteen months of living together before he gets Richie to make out with him.

It’s one thing for them to wrestle for kisses and hugs - I mean, hell, they’ve been friends since they were 8, roughhousing is the most normal thing they could do - but it’s different when Richie shoves him away for getting too heavy. Somehow putting a guy in a headlock so you can shove your tongue in his mouth seems… Well, wrong, maybe.

Unfortunately, that means that it’s all on Richie, and Richie… is Richie.

He not only avoids anything remotely sexual, he’s just goddamn annoying about it. Being perpetually horny because you’re living with your boyfriend who won’t let you touch him anywhere more racy than his arms is one thing, the constant, “Wow, brush your teeth, dude,” and “That kind of touching is reserved for your mom, Eds,” is another thing altogether.

Eddie doesn’t  _ want _ to be an asshole about this, but goddamn. One second he’s perched above a cute boy, who he loves and who loves him back, tilting their heads so he can explore the kiss, vibrating with desire because Richie is finally reciprocating and his hands are finally wandering down to dip into the sharp V of Richie’s hips, and then suddenly he’s being shoved across their bed.

“Buy me dinner first,” Richie laughs.

“What the  _ fuck,”  _ Eddie blurts. “I have been putting up with your  _ constant _ sex jokes for… for  _ twelve years. _ I have been listening to you talk about your wang and fucking my mom for more of my life than I haven’t, and you seriously can’t let me  _ touch below your waist?” _

Richie goes quiet in that way that always startles Eddie. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I can’t.” 

Eddie hisses out some of his anger through clenched teeth. “Christ, Richie!” he says. “Look, it’s just… Do you want sex with me or not?”

Richie pales, sitting up quickly. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know,” Eddie intones.

Richie shrugs jerkily. “I don’t. I mean, yes, I… I’ve just… I have spent so long trying not to think about it, and I don’t  _ know,  _ okay?” 

“Well I want sex with you,” Eddie says.

Richie watches him quietly.

“I do,” Eddie says softer, because he  _ knows.  _ He knows why Richie is scared, but he’s just  _ frustrated. _ “I want sex with you.” 

Richie chews at his lip. “I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Fine,” Eddie snaps, the frustration at everything twanging like a guitar string inside his brain. “Then maybe  _ I’ll _ sleep on the couch tonight.” He slides off the bed and storms out of the room.

“Fine,” Richie calls after him. “I haven’t slept on a bed in year.”

“That’s your goddamn fault!” Eddie shouts, and slams the door shut.

**

“So,” Bev says, holding her hand up. “You yelled at him?”

“I didn’t ask you here to judge me,” Eddie says. “We have Stan for that.”

“I know, Eddie, but come on,” Bev says.

Eddie sighs and takes a sip of his cider, which Bev had bought because of  _ course _ she has a fake ID. Just like Richie does, so he can bartend and rake in the tips with his constant joking and flirting and pretending he’s not a person who bolts out of bed the moment he feels anything like arousal.

“Yeah, well, it’s not just the backing out of everything all the time,” Eddie says. “It’s the deflecting and the avoiding and the… the… everything.”

“Eddie, he’s scared,” Bev laughs. “I mean, how long have you actually been thinking about being with a guy?”

“Since I found out about Richie, I guess,” Eddie admits. “It wasn’t a main concern, really.”

“Yeah,” Bev says, “and I get the feeling Richie has known about this, like, forever. And he’s built up a lot of fear about it. You can’t expect him to just drop all that.”

“I don’t!” Eddie protests. “But it’s been a year and I don’t know how else to tell him that I’m  _ into _ this! He’s not pushing me into anything!”

“You have to be gentler with him,” Bev says. “I know you guys are punchy with each other, and I think that works for him everywhere else, but it clearly doesn’t here.”

Eddie groans. “Godddd,” he whines. “But he’s so infuriating!”

She snorts. “You want some tips?”

He gives her a tired look. “How much of this is going to be sex things you’ve done with Ben?”

“Do you really want to know?” she asks.

He whines. “No.”

She grins at him.

“Fine, hit me,” he says, and chugs the cider.

**

Richie wakes up to a hand on his waist, and his first impulse is to flail it away before the guilt hits.

“Ssh, it’s me, it’s me,” Bev says. “I’m here to be a buffer.”

“Oh,” Richie says, relaxing.

“Scooch,” she murmurs, pressing him to the wall and wrapping herself around him, her chest flattening against his back. She smells like booze and cigarettes.

“Unbelievable,” Eddie mutters behind her as the bed dips again. “She can literally spoon you, and I can’t even sleep next to you.”

There’s some cursing and floundering around him. Eddie also smells like booze.

“Hey,” Bev hisses, her laughter shaking against Richie’s spine. “No hanky-panky while I’m here. I’m a  _ buffer.” _

“Fine,” Eddie whispers. “Fuck you.”

“Behave yourself young man,” she says.

There’s a moment of silence and then some hurried and whispered squealing and cursing as Eddie plants a slobbery kiss on Richie’s cheek - or as close as he can get in the dark and drunk, so somewhere near the corner of Richie’s eye - and then retreats.

“How  _ dare _ you,” Bev says, too tipsy to sound as severe as she’s trying to.

Richie’s heart does a lot of things all at once, the spot where Eddie kissed him cooling quickly. He’s  _ sleeping in the same bed _ as his  _ boyfriend. _ And sure, it’s Bev spooning him, but Eddie’s right on the other side of her.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, but they’re both already snoring.

He draws his knees up and tries to sleep despite his thundering heart.

**

“Morning,” Stan says, absolutely unsympathetic to Eddie and Bev and their obvious hangovers.

“Could you shut the fuck up?” Eddie asks.

Richie pushes a plate of something greasy and slightly blackened in front of him.

Eddie pokes at it. “What is this?”

“Hangover cure,” Richie says.

“Which includes…?” Eddie says.

“Well, it’s not kosher,” Richie offers, handing Bev another plate. “I can tell you that.”

“Wasn’t going to try it,” Stan says.

Bev digs in, unconcerned.

Eddie gives Richie a suspicious look, but he takes a bite anyway.

“Are we good?” Richie asks softly. He’s not sure what to make of Eddie getting drunk with Bev the same day they had a fight - if it even was a fight - but he wants to make sure this isn’t a I’m-rethinking-our-relationship sort of thing.

Eddie sighs and nods. “This is disgusting but it’s working,” he mutters. “Do I want to know what’s in it?”

“No,” Richie says. “Definitely not.”

“Great,” Eddie says.

**

“I want to try something,” Eddie says.

Richie gives him a concerned look. Eddie sighs and slides his glasses off his face.

“I don’t think not being able to see you will really make this easier,” he says.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant,” he says. “I won’t try anything racy, don’t worry.”

“Uh-huh,” Richie says nervously.

“I just want to touch you,” Eddie murmurs. “Just normally. No sex stuff. I won’t even kiss you.”

Richie squints at him like he’s looking for a trap. “Why?”

“Because I like touching you,” Eddie says. “And I want you to feel like it’s okay.”

“Okay,” Richie says, slowly, watching Eddie like a spooked cat as he sits down on the bed.

“You sure?” Eddie says.

“Am I ever?” Richie asks, breath coming out in a rush as Eddie sets his hands on his cheeks and slowly presses them up into Richie’s hair.

“You can ask me to stop,” Eddie murmurs. “Just maybe  _ try _ not to be a jackass about it, and I’ll try not to get annoyed.”

Richie laughs nervously. “No promises.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You’re unbearable.”

He runs his hands up Richie’s arms. Richie goes stock still, like he’s worried moving a single muscle will get him in trouble.

Eddie’s glad he has a habit of wearing two shirts, because this way he can slide his hands up Richie’s shoulders and push off the top shirt and still give Richie a moment to breathe. Not that Richie takes it - he’s still holding his breath.

Eddie tries to soothe him, resting his hands on Richie’s shoulders and only moving his thumbs. “You good there?” he asks.

Richie is finally forced to take a breath, slow and steady, eyes wide like he’s seeing his life flash before them.

“Can I take your shirt off?” Eddie says, tugging at the soft t-shirt.

Richie starts and yanks it off before Eddie can, then tries to pretend he hadn’t just ripped his own shirt off in panic. 

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Right.”

He trails his fingers down Richie’s arms again. Richie has grown into his height a little in the past two or three years, but he’s still all angles and gangly limbs. He has freckles on his shoulders, and for some reason that sends a pleased shiver down Eddie’s spine.

He really wants to throw himself at Richie and do literally  _ anything  _ to him, but instead he brings his hands up to stroke under Richie’s sharp jaw. Richie’s head falls back to make room a little too easily, his dark eyes watching Eddie through his lashes.

The list of things Eddie wants to do to Richie gets longer with every bop of his Adam’s apple. Eddie runs his thumbs over it, feeling it jerk, then slides his hands over Richie’s chest, down his ribs and the flat expanse of his soft tummy.

“This doing it for ya, Eds?” Richie asks, hands flat at his sides on the bed, like he’s scared to grip the sheets, even. He sounds like he’s trying to joke, but his voice fails him. He just sounds terrified.

“Yes,” Eddie says honestly. “I like touching you.”

Richie’s eyes flutter closed for a moment before he catches himself, spreading his fingers like he’d noticed them starting to curl.

His mouth looks so delicious right now. Eddie surges up, and Richie goes down easily, letting Eddie push him back onto the bed with as much resistance as melted butter. It reminds Eddie of how easily he’d tilted his neck back, and his attention is drawn back to Richie’s throat.

“Can I?” he asks, struggling to hold himself back from nipping at Richie’s throat already.

“Uh-huh,” Richie manages, breathless.

Eddie presses his lips to the side of Richie’s neck, following the curve of it down. Richie jerks under him, hands coming up and hovering in the air, so close to touching and yet to nervous to close the distance. Their legs are intertwined, awkwardly trying to keep them from sliding off the side of the bed.

“Eddie,” Richie croaks.

Eddie mumbles indistinctly, too busy pressing kisses to Richie’s throat, under his jaw. He wants to work his way up, nip at Richie’s earlobe.

“Eddie, I’m hard,” Richie says, like a warning.

“Kind of the point, Rich,” Eddie mutters, nipping at his neck.

Richie moans, then all but throws Eddie off of him. “I’m going to… to finish myself off in the bathroom,” he blurts.

“Are you fucking serious?” Eddie asks.

“Yep,” Richie says, and bolts out of the room like a spooked horse, slamming the door shut behind him.

Eddie stares at the door. “What the  _ fuck,” _ he says. He’s hard too, painfully so, and he groans. “Fuck.”

He shoves his pants and underwear down, grabbing some tissues to clean up the mess before it gets anywhere, then wraps his fingers around himself.

It’s the first time he’s heard Richie moan, and it’s going to fucking  _ haunt _ him. He’s wondered about what Richie would sound like in bed, whether he’s any good at dirty talk or if he’d be loud or quiet like he gets when Eddie kisses him, vaulting from overconfident dickhead to shy little flower at the slightest tender glance. 

It had been quiet. Strangled and desperate, and there’s probably a lot to unpack there, as always, but it’s also  _ hot.  _ It’s hot because it’s Richie, and Eddie made him moan, and that’s  _ good. _ He bites his lip to stay quiet and speeds up, thinking of the tiniest arch in Richie’s back when Eddie kissed his neck. It finally tips him over the edge, and he comes, wiping himself as he does.

“Fuck,” he mutters, throwing the tissues away and grabbing a few more to get rid of the rest.

He wipes his hands off, then goes to wash them in the kitchen sink.

Stan watches him closely where he’s doing a puzzle on the kitchen table. Eddie meets his eyes. “Do. Not…” he starts, lifting a threatening finger. 

“I got Richie hard and now he’s finishing himself off in the bathroom,” Eddie blurts, halfway to ease his nerves and halfway just to fuck with Stan.

Stan’s warning finger curls into a fist and he takes a deep breath.

“I got sex tips from Bev and found out she’s into hair pulling but Ben’s too polite to do it,” Eddie adds in a rush.

“No!” Stan shouts. “No! Do not tell me these things!”

Richie stumbles out of the bathroom, face dripping a few drops of water. “What’re you talking about?” he asks, wary.

“Hair pulling,” Eddie says.

“What?!” Richie squeaks.

“Bev’s into it,” Stan sighs.

“Oh,” Richie says, relieved.

“Why are you wet?” Eddie asks.

“Why are  _ you _ wet?” Richie retorts, then slumps. “I cried.”

“Oh, Richie,” Stan says, missing sympathetic by a hair and landing in disappointed.

“Are you still sleeping on the couch?” Eddie asks.

Richie looks at him, sheepish. “Yes.”

Eddie sighs. Maybe next time. If there is a next time. “That tracks.”

**

It’s two weeks before Bev can make time for another visit, but she stays sleeps in a sleeping bag on the floor as usual, because Richie is  _ still _ on the couch.

Richie makes them breakfast, which Eddie still thinks is kind of sexy. He wouldn’t have thought he’d be willing to put anything Richie made into his mouth, and they really had ordered a lot of pizza and takeout in the first few weeks of Richie’s experimental period, but Richie’s cooking is surprisingly good at this point.

Stan is quiet, staring at the table. He’s been awkward since Bev got in last night.

“Did Eddie tell you I’m into hair pulling?” she asks.

“Yes,” Stan says immediately.

“He looked like he wasn’t going to be able to keep that to himself,” she says. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the really kinky stuff to myself.”

“Oh?” Richie says, grinning very wolfishly for someone who cried after getting one boner from his boyfriend. “I want to know the kinky stuff.”

“I don’t,” Stan says.

“Can you handle the kinky stuff?” Bev asks, a shit-eating glint in her eyes.

Richie blushes. “As long as it’s not  _ my _ kinks I can!”

“You have kinks?” Eddie asks. He has a whole list, but he wonders if Richie’s ever allowed himself a genuine sexual thought in his life.

Richie blanches at that. “No. What? Do you?”

“Please don’t answer,” Stan mutters into his plate.

“You’ve been thinking about sex since we last did… stuff, haven’t you?” Eddie asks.

“There was stuff?” Bev asks, and Eddie kicks her under the table. It does nothing to wipe the mischief off her face.

“If I agree to sleep in the bed with you, will you stop asking?” Richie blurts.

Stan’s head shoots up. “Eddie, please, I want a living room,” he hisses.

Eddie narrows his eyes. Eventually, Richie will have to tell him. Especially if they’re sharing a bed. And goddamn, is Eddie tired of watching Richie wake up with cricks in his neck every morning because he won’t sleep in their bed. “Deal,” he says, still narrowing his eyes. “But I’m holding you to it. A thousand punishment kisses if you try to sneak out of it.”

“Eddie, come on. That would take hours,” Richie says.

“Yes it would,” Eddie says.

“It seems fair to me,” Stan offers.

Richie grumbles something under his breath, but he relents.

Bev gasps. “Now  _ I _ can sleep on the couch.”

“Ben’s going to start getting jealous,” Richie says.

“Ben is never jealous,” Bev says. “I like that about him.”

“I’ve seen Eddie jealous once,” Richie says. He stares at the table for a long moment, then says, “I’m going to go drown myself.”

“Wait,” Eddie says, as Richie gets up and leaves the kitchen like the devil is on his heels.  _ “Wait, come back here and elaborate.” _

**

“Look at our actual living room,” Stan whispers. “It’s beautiful.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “You’re hilarious,” he says.

“I think Richie’s humor is having an effect on mine,” Stan replies. “Which actually doesn’t bother me as much as it should.”

“It really should, though,” Eddie says, opening the door to their bedroom. “Good night, Stanley.”

“Good night,” Stan calls, still elated.

Eddie closes the door and sighs.

Richie has all but jammed himself into the tiny space between the wall and the bed.

“Is that comfortable for you?” Eddie asks.

“Yes,” Richie mumbles.

“Liar,” Eddie says, getting on the bed. “Richie, c’mon, talk to me. What are you scared of?”

“I don’t  _ know,” _ Richie complains. “I just am.”

Eddie lays down beside him. “There’s space between us even if you don’t try to squeeze yourself under the mattress,” he tries. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Richie insists.

“Why?”

“It’s just not!” Richie blurts, desperate. “It’s not, and I don’t know why!”

“Hey,” Eddie says, rolling around until he’s on the edge of the bed on his side, looking at Richie. “Can you just look at me?”

Richie sighs and shifts until his back is against his wall and he’s looking at Eddie.

Eddie takes a deep breath and puts his hand on Richie’s cheek. “You’re really cute without your glasses,” he says.

“Not with my glasses?” Richie says, a smile tugging at his face.

“No, your glasses make you look like a loser,” Eddie murmurs.

Richie snorts. “Do you want me to get better glasses?”

“Never,” Eddie says. “You’d just break them.”

Richie hums in agreement.

“You can do this,” Eddie says. Richie makes a small noise, looking up to avoid Eddie’s look. “You  _ can.” _

“This shouldn’t be hard,” Richie mumbles. “Even  _ Ben  _ can share a bed with Beverly, and have you  _ seen _ him around her?”

“It is hard,” Eddie says, brushing his thumb over Richie’s cheekbone. “I don’t acknowledge it a lot, but I know what it’s like in Derry. I know how scary all this is.” He sighs. “I shouldn’t be so aggressive with you.”

“God,  _ please  _ don’t stop,” Richie says. “It’s the only reason I ever do anything at all. I think if you left it to me I’d just let it eat me alive and just… I don’t know, crawl under your bed to die.”

“I worry about you,” Eddie murmurs.

“It’s very  _ you,” _ Richie says.

“Very us, really,” Eddie adds.

Richie smiles. Eddie has never noticed how his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“Don’t panic, I just gotta…” Eddie whispers, and pulls Richie’s head down to kiss his forehead.

Richie stops breathing, like he does, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I like wrestling your dumb ass into line,” Eddie says. “But we don’t have to do that all the time. It’s okay if sometimes you need me to be… gentle.”

“Did Bev scold you?” Richie guesses.

“Yes,” Eddie says. “But it’s also true.”

“Maybe sometimes,” Richie admits. “A little. It’s just weird if it’s too often.”

“Yeah, it is.” He watches Richie for a moment longer. “Night, Rich,” he murmurs, tucking Richie’s hair behind his ear before rolling over.

“Night,” Richie manages after a moment.

Eddie listens to him get comfortable, then closes his eyes, breathing out. It’s nice, having Richie next to him. He thinks he might sleep better like this.

**

Richie wakes up to an empty bed.

He fumbles for his glasses and checks the time. It’s past noon, which explains it. Eddie has long left for class, and probably didn’t want to wake Richie, seeing as Richie hasn’t been sleeping in a bed for over a year.

Still, something would have been nice.

He shuffles out of the room to find Stan drinking tea while studying.

“Morning,” he mumbles.

Stan takes one look at him and spits his tea all over his notes, slapping a hand over his mouth to try to stem the laughter.

Richie eyes him, then goes to the bathroom to check the mirror.

Eddie has left hearts all over his face in marker. It’s going to be a bitch to clean before he has to go to work, but Richie doesn’t care. He lays down on the - frankly disturbingly pristine - bathroom floor and covers his face to try to grapple with his feelings for a good five minutes.

**

“Did you get my message?” Eddie asks Richie when he gets home from work. Tuesdays are the worst days - Eddie doesn’t get out of class until Richie is already at work, and Richie doesn’t come home until two in the morning. Usually he doesn’t even wake Eddie, but now he’s in Eddie’s bed and Eddie’s been dozing until he comes home to make sure he doesn’t try to make a break for the couch.

“Oh, you mean the hearts I had to scrub off my face for nearly an hour?” Richie whispers. “Yeah, I got it.”

Eddie grins at him.

Richie sits on the side of the bed and pulls off his socks.

“You smell like bar,” Eddie informs him.

“Yes, I work there,” Richie replies. “I’m gonna shower in a second.”

He cracks his neck awkwardly, and Eddie sits up. “Want me to massage your shoulders?”

“Uhhhh,” Richie says. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“So what?” Eddie replies. “I’m already awake.” He scoots closer. “Take your shirt off.”

“I don’t know, Eddie, last time you got my shirt off, I ended up crying while jacking off,” Richie jokes.

“That sounds like a you problem,” Eddie says, crossing his arms. He rethinks the words. “I don’t have to, if you don’t want.”

Richie looks him up and down, then sighs. He shrugs off his outer shirt and pulls off the t-shirt beneath it, then eyes Eddie.

Eddie tries to hide his eagerness at getting his hands on Richie again as he scoots closer again, putting his hands on the back of Richie’s neck. Richie’s breath leaves him, and Eddie digs his thumbs into the knots in his shoulders.

_ “Ow,” _ Richie hisses.

“Shut up, Stan’s sleeping,” Eddie whispers.

“Then don’t try to claw my shoulders off,  _ ow!” _

Eddie rolls his eyes. “It’ll feel better after I get these knots out,” he hisses. “You shouldn’t have let it get so bad!”

Richie makes a token effort to stay quiet, but he hisses and whines like Eddie is dismembering him. Hopefully two doors will be enough to muffle his noises so Stan can still sleep, because Stan may kill them if they wake him up in the middle of the night again.

Still, Richie’s shoulders loosen a little by the time Eddie gets through with him, and Eddie kneads at the flesh with a gentler touch to sooth him. Richie’s shoulder blades are sharp in his long back, framing the curve of his spine with tempting definition. “Just a little kiss?” Eddie murmurs despite himself.

Richie makes a soft noise. “Oh, fuck it, go ahead,” he says.

“Go ahead?” Eddie mutters. “What does go ahead mean?”

“Just… I don’t know, whatever you’re thinking,” Richie replies. “Just… go for it.”

Eddie’s thinking a lot of things. “Tell me to stop,” he instructs. “If you need to. Just tell me.”

Richie hums in agreement, and Eddie presses a kiss to the base of his neck, feeling the divots in his spine with his lips. Christ, he  _ wants _ so much. “Fuck,” he mutters, kissing up Richie’s left shoulder, then into the crook of it, where he feels Richie’s heart thundering against his lips.

Richie holds his breath, as always, and Eddie cranes his head around to his at his throat. Richie’s Adam’s apple bobs, and Eddie feels hot all over. His hand slides up Richie’s back, feeling a shiver, and into his hair. He slides his fingers through it, flat against Richie’s scalp, then fists it, tugging gently.

Richie lets out a strangled noise, then skitters off the bed, twisting out of Eddie’s grip and nearly knocking over the bedside lamp.

“I’m going to… uh… to shower,” Richie manages. “Sorry.”

He dances away, leaving Eddie to lay down on the bed and try to breathe his way through the heat throbbing in his veins.

He listens to the shower turn on, and waits. 

Time ticks along, slow. It’s been a while. Eddie sighs and sits up, checking the time. It’s late. He gets up, grabs some clean clothes for Richie - because of course he’d forgotten them - then pads to the bathroom. He knocks on the door gingerly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Richie says.

Eddie pauses, then asks, “Can I come in?”

Richie is quiet for a moment. “Why?”

“Because you don’t sound okay.”

He waits at the door until the shower turns off and he hears a small, “Yeah.”

He presses the door open and puts the clothes on the sink, gently tugging aside the shower curtain. Richie looks up at him, sniffling.

Eddie has to look. It’s not even a conscious decision, he just peeks and then looks away, mortified. “I’m sorry, I just looked at your dick.”

“Is it longer than yours?” Richie asks, only sounding a little like he’s been crying.

Eddie looks again with a swallowed, “Shit,” then says, “Yes.”

“Cool,” Richie mumbles.

Eddie groans and gives him a towel. “Talk to me, Rich,” he tries, pointedly looking anywhere but Richie’s dick.

Richie shrugs as he dries his face, hiding it from Eddie. “I just… when I… when I come because of you, or thinking of you, it just… I feel awful,” he says. “The better it feels the worse  _ I _ feel.”

“Oh,” Eddie says.

Richie’s hand presses the towel against his collarbones and  _ fuck,  _ Eddie is still horny. He shouldn’t be horny right now. He looks away, trying to think of something unsexy.

“I feel like I’ve done something awful to you,” Richie whispers. “Like I’m forcing you.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, sitting on the side of the tub. “No. I like it, okay? I want sex with you.”

“Yeah, but I feel like…” He clambers out of the tub, covering his dick as he gets dressed, “like that’s just because you’ve decided to be with me, and you want sex, and… so I’m the one you have to do stuff with.”

“No,” Eddie says firmly. “I picture your face  _ very _ clearly when I jerk off. Dumb glasses and all.”

Richie looks at him like he’s crazy. Eddie wonders if he can make out Eddie’s expression without his glasses. “You jerk off thinking of me?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “All the time.” He sighs. He doesn’t exactly want to admit to any of this, but he can’t lie about it. “I’m very attracted to you. I want to do so many things to you that I…” He stops, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Nevermind, it’s not important. My point is--”

“No, keep going,” Richie says, eyes fixed on Eddie with a sort of sharpness Eddie doesn’t often see on Richie’s face.

“Keep… going with… what?” Eddie asks.

Richie shrugs, but he’s still too intent for it to be convincing. “What do you think about?”

“What do  _ you _ think about?” Eddie snaps on impulse.

“Nothing!” Richie says. “I try to clear my head when I jerk off.”

“That sounds miserable,” Eddie replies.

“Better than the alternative,” Richie mutters. “I get all nauseous…”

“Nauseated.”

“Whatever,” Richie says, looking at the floor. “I just… I’ve never let myself get very far, but I think of guys, in general, and then I feel… Just, it’s not good, okay?”

Eddie lets out a slow breath. “I mean, I guess I think about…” He grimaces, not eager to lay out his tastes like this. He doesn’t  _ try  _ to think about this stuff. He usually just lets his mind wander. “I don’t know, normal things? Like how you’d sound or look if I made you feel good.” He tries to trace his steps through a multitude of garbled sexual fantasies. “Your hands.”

“My hands?” Richie asks, cocking his head.

“Yeah, like… grasping at the sheets,” Eddie says, fidgeting under Richie’s astounded look. “I want to make you scream. Or gag you. Either one, really.”

“Oh,” Richie says, caught between breathless and laughing.

“I think about your legs,” Eddie offers.

“What about them?” Richie asks.

“I don’t know!” He looks at the ceiling and tries to trace his steps. “They’re very long.”

“Yeah,” Richie says slowly.

“That’s all,” Eddie says. “Just… A lot to dig my nails into. Or teeth. Or just… Whatever.”

Richie breathes out slowly, looking a little less shaken.

“Does that help?” Eddie asks.

Richie nods.

“If you want, you could get  _ me  _ off,” Eddie offers. “Just me. Like, just… So it doesn’t feel like you’re taking advantage.” Richie looks worried again, so Eddie adds, “If you want.”

“Like, now?” Richie asks.

“No,” Eddie says without hesitation. It’s late and Richie doesn’t look comfortable with the idea. “I already have a challenge for you.”

Richie looks at him suspiciously. “What?”

“Come on,” Eddie murmurs, standing and putting his hand on Richie’s back to march him out of the bathroom and sit him down in front of the couch. “Just lay here with me and watch some TV until you feel better.”

“But we’ll wake Stan,” Richie mumbles.

“Stan will live.”

“But will we?”

Eddie shrugs.

Richie seems apprehensive.

“C’mon, Rich, don’t fight me now,” he says. “Neither of us is in the mood to wrestle.” He sits in front of the couch and pats his lap.

Richie lowers himself down slowly and settles in his lap, resting his head against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie feels him swallow hard, but he curls up against Eddie’s chest quietly.

Eddie turns on the TV and turns down the volume. “Good boy,” he says, stroking his hand through Richie’s hair.

Richie snorts, but it’s undercut by the noise he makes when Eddie kisses his forehead.

Stan’s door opens and Stan pokes his head out, sighing. “What happened?”

“Eddie made me cry while jacking off again,” Richie says.

“Am I going to hear about every single step you two take in this weird-ass sexual journey you’re on?” Stan asks, crawling onto the couch.

“Shut up, you’re still a virgin too,” Richie says.

“I’m not, actually,” Stan mutters, getting comfortable.

“What? You’ve never brought a girl home,” Eddie says.

“Why would any sane person bring someone they want to have sex with into  _ this?”  _ Stan asks. “I went to their places.”

“Multiple women?” Richie blurts.

“Yes, Richie, multiple women.”

“Are you being safe?” Eddie asks.

“Yes, Eddie, I use condoms,” Stan sighs. “Not that I need a lecture from the guy who nearly broke his boyfriend’s skull in.” 

“The coffee table was closer than I thought it was!”

Stan hummed, dozing off again.

**

“Okay, I’m ready, let’s do this before I get too scared again,” Richie blurts, out of nowhere.

It’s been a week, and Eddie doesn’t know right away what he means. “Uh…?”

“Bedroom,” Richie manages. “Go, now.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, dropping his pen onto his notes without a second thought. “Okay.”

Richie covers his face as they both go into the bedroom. He shuts the door and leans against it.

“Should I undress all the way?” Eddie asks.

“Sure, yeah,” Richie says, like he mostly just wants Eddie to stop asking questions.

Eddie pulls off his sweater, then sits down on the bed to shimmy out of his pants. “How do you want to…?”

Richie strides over with one long step of his long legs and kneels in front of Eddie.

“Oh, fuck,” Eddie manages.

“Nope,” Richie squeaks out quickly, stumbling back to his feet. “Move up.”

_ That makes sense, _ Eddie thinks, and slides up until he’s against the headboard. Richie sits beside him, looking pointedly away as his hand hovers over Eddie’s groin.

Eddie sighs and takes his hand. “Should have put down a towel,” he mutters.

“We can’t stop now or I won’t be able to do this again,” Richie says, covering his eyes.

“Can you do this now?” Eddie asks.

“Yes,” Richie says. “Just. It’s like a bandaid. Just rip it off.”

“I use rubbing alcohol to--”

_ “Eddie.”  _ Richie’s voice is desperate on a level that shuts Eddie up immediately.

“You want this, though, right?” he asks quietly.

Richie nods frantically. “Yeah, yes, I’m just  _ terrified _ and I want to get it over with.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. He thinks that’s about as good as he’s going to get. “You can stop any time, though.”

_ “Can you please shut up,”  _ Richie hisses.

Eddie nods, though Richie can’t see him, and guides Richie’s hand down.

Richie makes an undignified noise when his hand touches Eddie’s dick, then clamps his hand over his mouth instead of his eyes, opting to twist his head around as far as it would go in the other direction.

“You… um… you need a second?” Eddie asks.

Richie nods, nostrils flaring above his hand.

Eddie sits and waits, watching Richie’s long fingers curled around his dick.

“Okay,” Richie manages. “Okay. I’m okay.”

“Sure,” Eddie says.

Richie risks a quick glance, then breathes, “Oh fuck I’m touching another man’s dick,” and looks away again.

This is the most awkward Eddie’s ever been, and that’s saying something.

“It typically works better if you move your hand,” he says, after a very long while.

“Mm-hmm,” Richie chokes out. It takes him another few breaths before he curls his fingers around Eddie’s cock, bringing his thumb up to the tip and giving it a good pump.

It’s  _ good. _ And granted, maybe it’s just the thrill of having Richie touch him after a year of jerking off in the shower and while Richie is at work despite them cuddling nearly every day, but he thinks Richie’s also good at it. He knows how to move his hand. Maybe trying not to think of anything while he jerks off has left Richie time to think about what makes a handjob really, really fucking good.

He groans, pressing his face into Richie’s shoulder, toes curling. He needs to grab something, and that something ends up being Richie’s hair, yanking it towards him without much thought for what’s he’s doing.

Richie moans, and that’s all it takes. Eddie digs his teeth into Richie’s shoulder and comes with a choked moan of his own.

“Fuck,” Richie says, looking down at his hand, covered in cum, and by extension, Eddie’s dick.

For a moment, Eddie thinks they both think he’ll be alright, and then Richie’s crashing off the bed and throwing up in the trash can Eddie keeps beside the bed just in case.

“Shit,” Eddie says, scampering after him. “Fuck, I told you to  _ stop _ if you need to--”

Richie shakes his head. “It wasn’t bad.”

Eddie stares at him. “Richie, you’re literally throwing up.”

“I think I’m just like this,” Richie says.

Eddie wants to strangle him, or maybe kiss him gently until he feels better. He settles for making an angry noise and throwing his hands up.

Richie wipes his cum covered hand on Eddie’s arm, and Eddie gawks at him. “I’m going to  _ kill _ you.” 

Richie grins at him.

They have some difficulties explaining to Stan why he walks in on Eddie naked, halfway to the bathroom and still trying to wipe his shoulder on Richie’s face while Richie is screaming bloody murder and not naked, and he’ll probably never forgive them, but Eddie does get his revenge.

**

As usual, any satisfaction at their progress is short lived.

They get a call three days later. Stan picks it up, because he has the funniest deadpan reactions to telemarketers and he’s been designated the phone-picker-upper, but Eddie can tell immediately that something’s wrong.

Stan’s face goes serious and he quickly thanks the other person and gets his keys. “C’mon, Richie passed out at the bar,” he says.

“What?” Eddie blurts, breaking another one of their plates when he drops it.

Stan sighs. “Just leave it,” he says. “Come on.”

Stan’s car is extremely shitty. His parents had bought it as a graduation present, as a starter car, and the best that could be said about it was that it functioned. And even that was being kind. Still, it was useful whenever they had to go to the emergency room and pick Richie up from the bar after he’d passed out.

Eddie’s brain cycles through a thousand and one reasons Richie could have passed out, from a heart attack to meningitis. For the most part, pre-med had been a blessing in disguise - diseases seemed a lot less like a silent, inexplicable monster when you knew how they worked - but sometimes he really wishes he didn’t know  _ so many damn things to be scared of. _

The moment he sets eyes on Richie, though, he knows what’s wrong. Richie is sitting in the back of the bar by the bathrooms, shivering a little and looking exhausted. Eddie feels his forehead and is unsurprised to find that he has a mild fever. “Hey,” he says. “Have you been sleeping enough lately?”

“No,” Richie mutters.

“Have you still been stressing about… before?” Eddie asks.

Richie looks up at him, miserable. “Maybe,” he says.

“You are so, so stupid,” Eddie remarks. “You worried yourself into getting the flu without saying anything?”

“I didn’t want you to think I regret it,” Richie says, looking so tired he can’t help but get teary-eyed. “I don’t! I just get… I feel like… I feel like I did something wrong and I know I didn’t but it just feels… like… I get this feeling in my stomach like I’ve  _ hurt _ you and I…” 

“Mmhmm,” Eddie replies softly. “I know. Come on, let’s go home.”

“We can stop on the way and get the ingredients for Jewish penicillin,” Stan offers.

“Which is?” Eddie asks, helping Richie up.

“Chicken soup,” Stan replies.

“That’s not Jewish,” Eddie says. “Everyone knows about chicken soup.”

“Yeah, well, the Jewish do it better,” Stan replies.

“We could also get canned soup,” Eddie says. “Because  _ everyone _ can make chicken soup.”

“There’s  _ three _ kosher delis on the way home.”

_ “How.” _

“I’m going to throw up,” Richie mumbles, and teeters to the nearest trash can to do so.

**

Eddie presses a thermometer into his mouth. In the kitchen, Stan is on the phone with his mother getting the recipe, because as much as he complains about living with them, he hasn’t actually learned how to cook. Richie’s glad - it’s silent confirmation that Stan loves them.

Richie feels miserable. He’s had a knot in his stomach since before he gave Eddie a hand-job, but it’s only been worse since then. It’s not fair, because Richie  _ knows _ it’s okay, knows Eddie wanted and liked it and wanted it  _ from him _ specifically, but he feels like he’s tricked Eddie into it somehow. He doesn’t know how, but…

“You know, it’s okay if sex takes you a  _ while,” _ Eddie says. “I complain because I… I mean, that’s what I do. But if this is different, then that’s okay. That’s my problem to deal with.”

He takes the thermometer out of Richie’s mouth. “Okay, you’re not burning up. Have you eaten enough today?”

“No,” Richie says, because he’s been too busy trying to get his stomach unknotted to eat much of anything.

Eddie sighs. “Okay, well, since you’re puking and you’re the only one around here who can cook, I think you’re getting toast for dinner, but that’s probably why you passed out.”

“It wasn’t a full pass out,” Richie offers. “I just got so dizzy I had to sit down.”

“Did you eat anything at all today?” Eddie asks.

“Some oyster crackers at the bar,” Richie mutters.

Eddie sighs. “Richie…”

Richie wants to make a joke, but it’s hard when Eddie looks so disappointed in him. “I want sex,” he says. “With you.” His stomach turns just at saying it out loud, and Eddie doesn’t look impressed.

“You’re literally green right now,” Eddie says.

“I’m  _ sick,” _ Richie complains, sounding pathetic even to his own ears.

“Rich,” Eddie says, severe.

“Eds,” Richie replies, letting Eddie bat his glasses off so he can really stroke Richie’s hair out of his face. “I want it.”

“I want you to not worry yourself sick,” Eddie says. “Especially because I’m  _ not _ kissing you while you’re sick, and I like kissing you.”

Richie sniffles at him pointedly.

“We don’t have to do any of this stuff yet,” Eddie says. “We can take a few more years.”

“It’s not going to get better in a few years,” Richie mumbles. “It’s… doing it is the only thing that makes it easier.”

“This is easier?” Eddie says, raising a brow.

“I told you I want sex with you, right?” Richie says. “Like, with  _ words.” _

Eddie sighs. “Okay, yes, you did. But you’re also sick and you haven’t eaten for a day.”

“Okay, so I’m not perfect,” Richie said. “It’s the price I pay for having a long dick.”

“It’s not that long,” Eddie replies, tucking Richie’s hair behind his ear. Richie shivers, and not from the fever. He likes when Eddie does that. It’s always so gentle, so oddly possessive.

“It’s like, pretty long, though, right?” Richie asks.

Eddie sighs. “I didn’t get that good a look,” he says. “And I haven’t seen it hard yet.”

“We can fix that,” Richie jokes, stomach knotting again.

“Stop it,” Eddie says. “You’re going to throw up again.”

“Ha,” Richie counters. “I don’t have anything left in my stomach.”

“We’ll give it a month,” Eddie says. “Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re in pre-med,” Richie said. “Last week I asked you where the liver is and you nearly blacked out.”

“It was  _ right before a quiz, dickhead,” _ Eddie retorted. “I know where the liver is!”

“Where is it then?”

“I don’t answer to you.”

“I don’t answer to  _ you _ either,” Richie insists.

Eddie gives him an unimpressed look. “Stanley?” he calls.

Stan sighs and pokes his head in. “Yes?”

“Tell Richie my orders are functionally doctor’s orders,” Eddie says.

“What are the orders?” Stan asks.

“No sex for a bit, because he gets green every time he talks about it,” Eddie says.

“Of course,” Stan sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Eddie’s orders are doctor’s orders.”

“So you’re saying we both answer to Stan,” Richie says.

Eddie realizes his mistake a moment too soon. “What? No.”

“Yes,” Stan says. “You do. While we’re at it, I never want to see Eddie’s naked ass in the living room ever again.”

“He wiped his cum h--” Eddie started.

“I don’t! Want! To! Know!” Stan shouted, slamming the door in their faces.

Richie grinned at the reaction, then looked at Eddie. “After that we can keep trying?”

Eddie glares at him, suspicious.  _ “Only _ if you tell me every time you’re too stressed to eat or sleep or exist.”

“But Eddie Spaghetti, that sounds hard,” Richie whines.

“Then no deal,” Eddie says.

Richie grumbles at him. “Okay okay,  _ fine. One month.” _

Eddie smiles at him. "Okay. Now could you please try to get some sleep while I make you toast?"

“Try not to burn the apartment down with Stan," Richie teases, but closes his eyes obediently and lets himself drift off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only now realizing that at no point did i mention this fic is a sequel to my garbage whump fic and i might write more sfw drabbles about this au because i've fallen down this rabbit hole like an IDIOT

Richie groans, his head thudding against the tile.

This shouldn’t be hard.

He doesn’t  _ want _ this to be hard. He’d spent so long wishing for this feeling to go away and knowing it wouldn’t, and now that he’s  _ trying _ he can’t do it.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

It’s such a simple thing. Think of Eddie, jerk off.

He’s killed a demon clown  _ twice, _ for fuck’s sake.

Someone knocks on the door loudly. “Jesus Christ, Richie, how long can you shower? Are you dead in there?” Stan asks.

Richie jumps and nearly breaks his hand with the force with which he pulls it away from his dick. “Fuck, Stan, can’t a guy masturbate in peace around here?” he yells back, which stings a little. He’s currently very much not masturbating because he’s way too scared to.

“Gross,” Stan calls. “I need to pee.”

“Way grosser, Stanley,” Richie yells, then sighs, turns the water to cold, and tries to breathe.

**

“I can’t masturbate while thinking of my boyfriend,” Richie mutters.

_ “Richie it’s like… one in the morning, I thought you were dying,” _ Bev replies.

“I feel like I’m dying,” Richie says, letting his head thud against the wall.

_ “Okay,” _ she says.  _ “Listen, I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I do have some experience in being turned on by things you don’t want to be turned on by and working through it with someone who loves you a lot but maybe… doesn’t understand exactly where you’re coming from.” _

Richie makes an undecided noise. “Close enough, I guess.”

_ “Look, the important part is that it’s not all or nothing,” _ she says.  _ “You don’t have to delve all the way into whatever fantasy is bothering you to deal with it.” _

“There’s no fantasy, I just want to think about my boyfriend while touching myself,” Richie mumbles.

_ “Yeah, but it’s the same idea, right? Like, you’re trying to think of him naked while you’re naked and it’s just scary. But you could just think about, say, conversations you had with him over the course of the day and maybe just touch yourself somewhere sensitive but not immediately your dick. You don’t have to jump in with both feet.” _

Richie mulls that over. “Are you and Ben doing okay?”

She hesitates. _“Well, I mean, _yes,” she says, _“but I like certain things a little rough, and he doesn’t get it, and frankly _I _don’t get it, and sometimes it just ends up with me getting frustrated and him having to let me take a walk before he lures me back in with kisses. But it’s good. We talk about stuff, and that helps.”_

“Your biggest relationship problem is that Ben is too nice to you in bed? That’s kind of fucked up,” Richie says.

_ “First of all, it’s not a  _ problem, _ it’s an ongoing discussion, second of all, you’re calling me in the middle of the night because you’re terrified to be attracted to your boyfriend.” _

“Touché.” He flicks at a piece of wall they’d chipped at some point. No doubt Ben would patch it up on his next visit. “Thanks for helping, though.”

_ “Always, Richie,” _ she replies.  _ “Though if you could call before midnight next time, we’d both appreciate it.” _

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Good night. And good night to your boyfriend, who’s too nice to you.”

_ “Fuck off,” _ she says, then,  _ “Good night, Richie.” _

**

Even this is hard, Richie decides.

Eddie won’t be back from class for another three hours, and Stan’s gone for another two.

He’d gotten up early and made Eddie a boxed breakfast so he could make his early class, and Eddie had kissed him on the cheek as he’d left and demanded Richie go back to sleep after, and that had been about as much as they’d interacted today.

He rests his hand on his stomach and tries to think about it.

It’s not enough to get him aroused, just make him feel warm and a little gooey, maybe. But if he reaches under his waistband, he starts to feel disgusting for it.

He rolls onto the bed and screams into the pillows, then glances miserably around the room.

Eddie’s hoodie is draped carefully over the back of his chair.

Richie sits up and grabs it, pushing his face into it and taking a deep breath. It smells like Eddie.

That’s a start, isn’t it? 

He shrugs off his pants and pulls on the sweater, and then lays there, staring at the ceiling.

He leans his head into his shoulder to take a deep whiff of it.

Eddie had liked him craning his neck.

He puts his hand on the side of his neck. He can feel his pulse pounding at the tips of his fingers. His throat is dry and he feels queasy.

He leaves his hand there, and tries to calm down.  _ It’s okay, Richie, it’s okay. _

Weirdly enough, he imagines Bev cheering him on through this, and then inevitably thinks of Ben, who would naturally allow it - when would he ever forbid Bev from anything? - but who would look deeply baffled and slightly concerned, probably, and that thought makes him laugh. It comes out all choked, but it alleviates some of the tension in his gut.

He presses Eddie’s sweater to his face with one hand and lets the other trail over his shoulder, into the sensitive divots that Eddie had gone wild for.

Because he  _ had. _ He’d  _ wanted. _ He’d wanted Richie and he’d been turned on by kissing his neck, both times, and Richie hadn’t made him do it. It was okay. It was  _ fine,  _ it was good. Eddie  _ liked _ this.

He wasn’t picturing Eddie, but the thought settled somewhere in the back of his mind.  _ Eddie liked this, Eddie liked this, Eddie went crazy for my neck and he said he likes my legs and my hands and probably most of the things in between… _

Richie pulled his hand away, suddenly overcome with a multitude of emotions he couldn’t begin to identify. He sat up quickly, wiping tears from his eyes, but he wasn’t on the verge of throwing up. Granted, he hadn’t come either, but…

But it was a start.

**

“It’s been a month,” Richie blurts like he’s spent a considerable amount of time trying to think of a good way to put it and this is the best he’s come up with.

“Really?” Eddie says. He’s had midterms and he’d stopped counting at some point.

“Yes,” Richie says, strangled.

“... You realize you’re inspiring absolutely  _ zero _ confidence,” Eddie tells him.

“Yes,” Richie manages, bolting up to sit on the edge of the bed. “I know.” He bites at his lip. “But I know what I want and I think I can handle it.”

He gives Eddie an earnest look that Eddie can’t resist, because fuck if he isn’t weak to Richie being serious and soft like that. “Okay,” Eddie relents.

Richie goes red at the realization that now he has to say it. “Okay, wait,” he says, putting a finger up. He swallows, hovering over the words a few times before he says, “Wait, I’ll get there, okay, I know… I  _ know what I want to say.” _

“Uh-huh,” Eddie says, swallowing down a smile over just what a disaster Richie is.

“Fuck,” Richie says, putting up both hands as though to calm himself. “Okay. Okay, what I want is… no dick stuff.”

“No dick stuff,” Eddie intones, doing a very bad job of not smiling.

“Just kiss my neck and pull my hair and I’ll tell you when to stop,” Richie says. “And I won’t run off after, I’ll just… um. Suffer?”

“I was with you until you said suffer,” Eddie offers.

“I mean we’ll blue ball it,” Richie says. “Or I will. Or whatever you want.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. 

“Please?” Richie says, like he doesn’t know that he could ask anything of Eddie if he says it like that.

“Fuck, Rich,” Eddie breathes. “You’re really going to have to make sure you tell me when to stop, because you drive me  _ crazy.” _

Richie smiles, still nervous, and lets Eddie push him into the bed.

“Clothes on?” Eddie asks.

Richie nods. He’s only wearing a t-shirt today, and Eddie notices it’s one of the older ones with a ratty collar that’s easy to pull away. Richie  _ prepared  _ for this.

He’s sprawled out under Eddie too, swallowing hard, and it’s kind of sexy. “You’re  _ sure _ you’re okay?” he asks.

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Eds,” Richie says, sounding almost like himself. “Yeah.”

Eddie slides his hand into Richie’s hair, nice and even, and closes his fist around it. “How hard can I pull?”

“How hard do you want to…?” Richie squeaks.

Eddie tugs, slowly, harder and harder until Richie’s head follows his movements and he lets out a small noise that Eddie wants to swallow right out of his mouth. “Good?”

“Yes,” Richie manages, breathless, and Eddie grins at him, tugging his head over so he can get to Richie’s throat.

He kisses it gently at first, letting Richie twitch and then relax, hands opening and closing under Eddie. Eddie readjusts himself so he has one leg between Richie’s legs, up on one elbow so he can lean over Richie and kiss the expanse of his throat harder.

He nips at it, pulling the smooth skin between his teeth, worrying at it ever so slightly. Richie makes another noise, and Eddie remembers to tug at his thick hair again. Richie moans, head lolling to give Eddie better access. 

Eddie responds by licking a stripe up his neck, which is gross, really, but in the moment, it’s just hot, especially because Richie lets out a desperate, “Nnnnn,” like he can’t stop himself, and that goes straight to Eddie’s dick.

He pulls Richie’s earlobe between his teeth and digs them in, gentle but firm, and Richie grinds up against his thigh.

Eddie lets go of his ear and pushes himself up to look at Richie. “Is this still--?”

“Oh, God,  _ please _ don’t stop,” Richie sobs, and Eddie can’t protest.

He twists Richie’s hair in his hand and sucks at his neck sloppily - God, is the drool going to be gross whenever he comes down enough to think about it - and lets instinct take over.

Richie’s breathing quickens, mounting into little noises that Eddie can only describe as mewls, and then suddenly he goes stiff, moaning.

Eddie stops short. “Did you just… come in your pants?” he asks slowly.

Richie has to swallow several times before he can nod.

Eddie carefully removes his hand from Richie’s hair, and sits up to look at him. He’s still gasping for breath. They’ve been at this at  _ most _ two minutes, probably less, but Richie looks thoroughly debauched.

Eddie can’t help it. He starts laughing. He tries to shove his fist into his mouth to stop, but it’s useless.

“Fuck you,” Richie breathes, and he hasn’t thrown up, which is good. “I’ve only ever done this sort of thing with your mom, you know.”

Eddie’s still hard, but it’s unimportant, because he has to stand up to avoid laughing right into Richie’s face while Richie is clearly still pulling himself together. He puts his hands on his thighs - one of which is now really way too moist - and snorts loudly.

“I’m going to pretend you’re laughing at my mom joke,” Richie mumbles.

Eddie sits down on the floor to laugh.

Richie’s legs come to dangle off the bed beside him. Eddie quickly kisses his knee, then looks up at Richie.

“Wow, you’re shameless,” Richie jokes, and then he’s crying.

“Shit,” Eddie says, and shoots up to sit on the bed beside Richie. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Richie says. “I think I’m just feeling a lot of things and they’re spilling over.” He sniffles. “God, Jesus, what the fuck.”

“Can I help?” Eddie asks.

Richie shakes his head, pressing his palms into his eyes. “No, I think I just have to get it out.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, taking his hand and sitting beside him until Richie stops sniffling.

They’re silent for a while. Eddie tries to be subtle about how he wipes his face and grimaces at the wet spot on his pants.

“First time I’ve seen you come,” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Richie replies.

“It was hot,” Eddie says.

“Shit,” Richie blurts. “You didn’t get to--”

“Kind of ruined the mood when you started crying,” Eddie says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Sorry,” Richie mumbles. “At least let me… uh…”

“Can I help you out of those pants?” Eddie blurts.

“Uh,” Richie says. “Sure?”

“It’s getting crusty and it bothers me,” Eddie insists. “And also I want to see you naked.”

Richie bites his lip, and now Eddie’s the one holding his breath, waiting to see if they can ride this high any further.

“Okay,” Richie relents. “But no touching.”

Eddie rolls his eyes at his teasing tone. “Oh, fuck off.”

“No but seriously, I’m shaking,” Richie says, showing him his hands.

“Richie,” Eddie says. “What the fuck?”

Richie laughs, and Eddie sighs, dragging him up by the collar of his shirt and waving him out the door.

Stan comes through the front door just as they enter the living room, and Richie quickly covers his groin. Stan stares at them, like he’s not sure he wants to know but wondering if he should ask.

“I came in my pants,” Richie blurts. “And then cried. I think I just cry during sex. Like, that’s who I am as a person.”

“Great,” Stan says, voice pitched higher than it should be. “Okay.”

Richie sighs. “Go ahead and laugh, Eddie already did.”

Stan tries very hard not to laugh, but it’s an uphill battle and he’s in tears with the effort not to.

“What?” Richie says. “Come on, it’s funny. Crying during sex? Hilarious. Laugh it out, Stan.”

Stan lets out a choked noise and squats down behind the couch to laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny, but it’s  _ so fucking funny.” _

“Yep,” Richie says. “Anyway, we’re going to go take care of this mess.”

Stan says something in response but it’s concealed by crying laughter.

Eddie shoves Richie into the bathroom. “Okay, you’re clearly well enough to joke around, drop your pants,” he says, then thinks better of it. “Or, you know…”

“Eds, you’re seriously going to give yourself a stroke over this and that’s going to be so hard to explain at the emergency room. We’ve put Stan through enough,” Richie says, in a surprising burst of bravado before he realizes what he’s doing. “Will you say something if you don’t actually like it?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “But I’ve seen most of you naked already, I don’t think seeing the whole picture clearly is somehow going to be the dealbreaker.”

“It’s a pretty picture,” Richie manages, though his voice cracks and he’s blushing beet red.

He awkwardly unbuttons his pants and shoves them down, followed by his underwear. This time, Eddie takes a proper look.

Richie is gangly and awkward and dicks, Eddie thinks, just plain look weird, but it’s all  _ Richie. _ “It’s good,” Eddie says, and then regrets not thinking twice over his words.

“What, my dick?” Richie says.

“No, you, in general,” Eddie snaps. “Your dick is... It’s a dick.”

“Could you tell Bill that I wouldn’t have gone into that house if we were measuring wangs?” Richie says.

“I’m… How would I know that?” Eddie replies. “I’ve only seen your dick and my dick.”

“We could ask Bev,” Richie says.

“I’m not asking Bev how long her boyfriend’s dick is to settle a six year old grudge or some shit,” Eddie says. “And I’m not asking Ben or Stan either.”

“Mike’s pretty tall,” Richie mutters. “Not sure about him. But I think I’ve got Bill beat, and between you, Bev and Bill…”

“Bev doesn’t count if we’re measuring wangs,” Eddie says. “She’s out of the competition.”

“No, man, equality,” Richie says. “We’re measuring by length, she doesn’t have any.”

Eddie groans. “Why are you  _ like _ this?”

Richie grins. “Okay, you too.”

“What was it you just said about a stroke?”

“No, come on, rip that band-aid off,” Richie insists.

“I don’t rip band-aids…”

“Come on, do it,” Richie says. “Now, while I still feel kind of good about this.”

Eddie groans and tears off his shirt, then fumbles with his pants. They need to be washed anyway. “There,” he says. “Are you happy?”

Richie takes a furtive glance, then stares at the ceiling. “Oh, god, we’re both naked.”

Eddie sighs. “Yes, Rich, that’s what happens when two people get naked at the same time.”

“It’s a lot,” Richie says, taking another quick peek. “You have a nice dick. I think.”

“It’s a dick. They all look pretty much the same.”

“You  _ just _ said you haven’t seen more than two dicks,” Richie protests.

Eddie groans. “I have in like… textbooks and stuff.”

“Wow, I had no idea pre-med was so sexual,” Richie teases.

“Get in the bathtub,” Eddie snaps.

“Okay,” Richie says, and does.

**

“Stan’s not home for another three hours,” Eddie murmurs, playing with Richie’s hair while Richie dozes. They’d had some trouble closing the bar, and he hadn’t gotten back until four in the morning, and now he’s all pliant in Eddie’s lap while Eddie tries to focus on his summary sheet for his next test.

“Mm?” Richie mumbles. Eddie is very turned on by how Richie’s brain dies when he gets cozy enough in Eddie’s lap. He squints up at Eddie. “Where are my glasses?” 

“Don’t know,” Eddie says, because he likes the way Richie squints at him, and also it’s funny to watch him look around for the glasses clearly pushed up onto the top of his head. “But I was thinking maybe we could try getting naked together, see where it goes?”

“Oh,” Richie says.  _ “Oh.” _

“Yeah,” Eddie says, trailing his fingers up the side of Richie’s neck. Richie shivers.

He’s let Eddie ravish his neck several times since. Eddie hasn’t made him come in his pants again, but he has given him enough of a hickey to make Stan choke and leave the room for several minutes upon seeing it. And he thinks maybe,  _ maybe _ if he can get Richie naked with him without panicking, he can make him come again.

He wants to see it in detail, preferably every day for the rest of his life.

“Okay,” Richie mumbles.

“Wait, really?” Eddie asks, because he wasn’t expecting this to be so easy.

“Yeah,” Richie says. “Last time was actually… kind of a relief.”

Eddie can’t help but tease, because Richie gets so meek like this and Eddie’s torn between finding it cute and wanting to make him laugh so he feels alright being… well, Richie, again. Maybe he just wants Richie to get all small and quiet like this for the right reasons, like being comfortable in Eddie’s clutches instead of being scared. “What’d you think would happen when you first came in front of me? We’d turn into werewolves?”

“You’re joking, but I’ve had that nightmare,” Richie replies, smiling. Eddie feels shivery at him smiling about this stuff. Like he’s done something right. Richie sighs. “I guess I thought you might regret it.”

“Rich,” Eddie says softly.

“And then my brain drags along all the other stuff, courtesy of growing up in Derry,” Richie says.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. Even he sometimes gets the cold sweats thinking about going home and being together there. He’s had nightmares, before, of Henry Bowers  _ knowing  _ and getting hold of Richie. He doesn’t want Richie to go back to Derry ever again, even - or especially - if Pennywise comes back against all odds. “I know.”

Richie’s hands shake when they settle on Eddie’s waist, and it’s possibly the most daring move he’s ever made without hiding it under teasing and grappling and other excuses. It wipes Eddie’s brain clean and sends a spike of heat through him.

“Fuck, Richie,” he breathes, and slides up to capture Richie’s mouth in a kiss.

Richie doesn’t fight him, for once, though he does go still as a deer in headlights. His hands stay on Eddie’s waist, even as Eddie leans back to wrestle his shirt off.

“What if Stan comes home early?” Richie blurts, but his hands are touching Eddie’s bare skin for real and everything else is secondary.

“He better fucking not,” Eddie replies, before he realizes he can’t get Richie’s shirt off without moving his hands. “Ah, fuck.”

He pulls Richie’s shirt off, mourning the loss of his hands as Richie is forced to raise them, then guides them back before kissing Richie again. Richie doesn’t do much of anything, but he lets Eddie kiss as hungrily as he wants, opening his mouth for Eddie’s tongue without protest.

Eventually, Richie tears his head away, breathless. “Tell me you want this,” he pleads.

“Fucking hell do I want this,” Eddie says, nearly headbutting Richie in the teeth in an effort to get his pants off without getting off him.

“Just say it,” Richie croaks.

“I want this,” Eddie says, as he gets his own pants off. “I want you. Fuck, Richie, I want you.”

Richie puts his hands on Eddie’s chest, and granted, he uses it as a way to keep their dicks a safe distance from each other, but he also runs his hands up and down Eddie’s shoulders, hesitant, and looks at him wide-eyed, like he’s realizing how much  _ he _ wants this.

Eddie tugs his hair and mouths at his neck, leaving kisses and tiny bites along Richie’s bony shoulder. Richie’s noises stay at the back of his throat, but they’re cute and persistent and Eddie can’t get enough.

“Let me...” he murmurs, and moves to press his thigh between Richie’s legs again, like last time. Hot, wrinkly skin and wiry hair brush against the skin of his thigh, and Richie lets out a wild  _ hngk? _ Eddie pauses, watching his face as Richie looks anywhere but at him. “Still okay?”

Richie nods, staring above his head, breathing through his mouth in an attempt to stay calm.

“Can I try…?” Eddie whispers, glancing down at their dicks without saying exactly what he means, like that might help it be less scary.

“Give me a second,” Richie croaks, and Eddie sits back on his heels and quietly thumbs at Richie’s hip.

_ Don’t think about where that V leads, _ he tells himself, and clears his throat, looking around at the room while he waits for Richie’s breathing to even out.

Stan’s going to kill them for fucking in the living room, but so be it.

“Okay, try,” Richie says, and for a second, Eddie doesn’t believe it.

“Seriously?”

“Don’t make me think about it more!” Richie whines. “Just… Fuck, Eddie, c’mon.”

“Oh-hokay,” Eddie says, shuffling around Richie so he can press his dick to Richie’s.

Richie makes a noise somewhere between a strangled  _ mnnn _ and a wild sob. His hands hover over Eddie like he’s looking for a place to touch that’s allowed by whatever goes on in Richie’s brain. 

Eddie takes them in his own hands and slowly lowers them to his waist. “Sssh,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” Richie chokes out, trying to catch his breath.

It breaks Eddie’s heart a little that the last time he saw Richie look so panicked was in Neibolt, years ago.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “It is.”

“You’re not, like, secretly wishing you’d never become friends with me in the first place?” He’s trying to joke but it’s like the fear is spilling out of his mouth before he even realizes.

“Never,” Eddie whispers. “Never, Richie. I don’t regret being friends with you, and I don’t regret being with you, I don’t regret getting naked with you. This is, like, the least scared I’ve ever been about anything ever.”

That’s a little bit of a lie. He worries he’s pushed Richie too far, but that seems to help.

Richie nods. “Can you just… Whatever works for you,” he manages, voice a little broken as he looks up at Eddie. He doesn’t pull his hands away. “Do whatever feels best for you, okay? Please?”

Eddie wants to say something about reciprocity, but he’s not sure it’s a word and he’s not sure Richie can stand to hear it right now, so he just nods, and puts his hands on the floor so he can move. “Tell me if it’s bad, though,” Eddie says. He rewords it quickly.  _ “I _ don’t want it to be bad for you.”

Richie nods again, breathing a little easier.

Eddie rolls his hips against Richie’s, and Richie makes a desperate noise, eyes fluttering shut.

Eddie pushes a small, almost chaste kiss to Richie’s belly, where he can reach despite their height differences, and moves a little more confidently. Richie’s length is hot against the sensitive skin on Eddie’s, and though the friction is a little weird and it takes Eddie a few tries to get a good rhythm, he’s ridiculously turned on.

Richie’s head lolls and his fingers twitch on Eddie’s sides, and Eddie knows he won’t last long.

He hopes at least they’ll last comparatively long.

Richie doesn’t really get louder as he gets close, but he makes more noises. Eddie has spent a lot of time wondering what kind of noises he makes, and the past several months have been a process of continually scaling down the boisterous noises he’d pictured to the level of confidence Richie actually has in bed.

He’d almost gotten there, but Christ he wasn’t prepared for the little whines and desperate sobs and the way Richie’s hands fly up to dig his long fingers into Eddie’s shoulder blades when he’s close, trying so hard not to buck up into Eddie, or the way Richie arches, displaying his throat as his face scrunches up and he comes with a sharp cry.

Eddie doesn’t last much longer, groaning as Richie twitches against him. He spills between them, and suddenly it’s very, very gross. He bites back a soft  _ ew. _

Richie sniffles, and Eddie’s attention is back on him in a heartbeat. “You okay?”

“I’m telling you, I’m just like this,” Richie chokes out, wiping his eyes quickly.

“But… like… how do you feel?” Eddie asks. “Was it good?”

“Yeah,” Richie manages. “It was a  _ lot.” _

Eddie nods, wincing at the stickiness as he comes up to cup Richie’s jaw in his hand. “Hey. It’s alright. Still no regrets,” he says. “Except that we should have put a towel down and maybe brought some tissues, because cum is really gross apparently, but that’s not your fault.”

Richie laughs a little at that.

They have half a second of hearing the door unlock before Stan steps inside, and it’s not enough to move. “Oh, fuck, no, what the fuck?!” Stan shouts, covering his eyes and then staggering around like he doesn’t know where to go.

Richie moves to cover up the evidence, but he’s too fast and long for his own good, because he slams right into the TV stand with a worrying crack.

**

Eddie can’t imagine what their neighbors think of them, but all in all, this bought of incomprehensible screaming is not going to make that much of a difference.

“Do you need to go shower?” Richie asks, while Eddie presses a tissue to his bleeding nose.

Stan has cleverly put down a towel, or rather thrown it at them with his eyes closed and let Eddie use it for whatever it was most needed for, which is the only reason they’re not getting bloodstains on the couch.

“Richie, there’s blood and… other fluids on the floor, I’m not going to feel clean until I bleach everything.”

“That’s nothing new,” Stan says, helping Richie hold a bag of frozen peas to his nose. “Tell me you’re not concussed again, the nurses are definitely going to think we’re in the mafia or something.”

“I’m fine,” Richie mumbles. “I understand if you want to move out after this.”

“I’m not moving out until you guys make me,” Stan says. “Weirdly enough, I enjoy living like this. But also, what the  _ fuck.” _

“There is a very narrow window in which I can do sex things with Richie, and I didn’t want to risk him losing his nerve en route to the bedroom,” Eddie says.

Stan glares at him. “I don’t care, the living room is  _ shared space,  _ it’s  _ not  _ for sex.”

“You’re happy when we cuddle,” Richie says. “And cuddling is the first step on the route to sex.”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding, concussed, or just stupid,” Stan replies.

“We won’t do it again,” Eddie promises. “This was a special occasion.”

Stan pauses. “Wait, was this the first time you guys have actually…?”

“Does mashing dicks together count as losing your virginity?” Richie asks.

Stan makes an unsure noise, then shrugs and says, “Sure.”

“Nice,” Richie whispers. “I did it.” He turns to Eddie. “Can I tell Bev?”

“I’m seriously worried he’s concussed,” Stan says.

“I think he might just be like this,” Eddie says, pulling Richie’s hand away from his face. The bruise isn’t  _ that  _ bad. It’ll probably last about a week.

“I’m right here, guys,” Richie says. “It’s 1993 and I don’t know who the president is because I don’t watch the news.”

“That does sound like Richie,” Stan admits.

“It’s Clinton, jackass,” Eddie says.

“Oh yeah,” Richie says. “Bill.”

“You only know the president by first name?” Stan asks incredulously.

“Yeah, we  _ know _ a Bill,” Richie says. “That makes it easier.”

“How?!”

Eddie double-checks his pupils, sighing. “Alright, give me your full name just to make me feel better and you’re all clear.”

Richie looks him dead in the eyes and says, “Richie Kaspbrak,” before immediately shouting, “Nope!” and vaulting over the back of the couch to slink off to the bathroom.

“He’s fine,” Stan says, before looking at Eddie, who has to cover his face. “Wow, he actually got you, huh?”

“Shut up Stanley,” Eddie mutters.

“He’s all grown up,” Stan says. 

“Help me move the books while I bleach,” Eddie says, ignoring Stan’s grin as he moves to get his rubber gloves.

**

It’s late, and Eddie’s been staring at the same page in his textbook for a good ten minutes before he feels Richie’s eyes on him.

He looks over at Richie, who’s stopped flipping through his magazine to watch Eddie.

“What?” Eddie challenges.

“I love you,” Richie says.

Eddie has to back up several mental steps to take it in. “I love you too,” he says, then, “We’ve never said that before, have we?”

Richie shakes his head.

“That’s dumb,” Eddie says.

Richie laughs. “Jeez, go easy on me, Eds, will ya?”

“Never,” Eddie says, getting up to roll Richie back into bed.

Richie flails, a token effort, trying not to giggle as he yelps, “No! It’s too much! Too tender!”

Eddie pins his arms in a captive pretzel and kisses all over Richie’s face. “I need to study, asshole, and here you are being cute and saying shit like this…” He blows a raspberry into Richie’s neck and Richie nearly screams before Eddie gets a hand over his mouth. “Don’t wake Stan.”

Richie tries to retort, but Eddie’s hand is still over his mouth. He licks it as revenge, and Eddie recoils and wipes it on Richie’s shirt with a grimace. “Fucker,” he whispers.

“It’s your fault,” Richie whispers. “I’m just one man, Eddie, how am I supposed to stay quiet when you’re  _ tormenting _ me?”

“What, with this?” Eddie asks, blowing another raspberry into his throat, right under his jaw.

Richie swallows down an undignified squeal. “Eddie!”

Eddie grins at him, sliding his hands under Richie’s jaw. “I like how easy to are to torment,” he murmurs.

“Life’s hard when your boyfriend’s a sadistic sex fiend,” Richie sighs, and Eddie can’t keep it together, hiding his face in Richie’s shoulder while he giggles.

Richie rolls them over and squirms until he has his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “Oh,” Eddie says, rewarding the initiative by raking his fingers through Richie’s hair while Richie takes off his glasses. “You’re being  _ very _ forward today.”

“Sssh,” Richie says. “Don’t jinx it.”

Eddie pulls him in with a kiss to the forehead. “I do need to study,” he murmurs.

“You’re not studying you’re just staring at the words,” Richie says.

“Point taken,” Eddie says, running his fingers over Richie’s spine to his shoulder. Richie shivers under his touch. “You want anything specific?”

Richie shakes his head. “Just wanted to say I love you and now I want to be close to you.”

“Feeling fragile after admitting your feelings, huh?” Eddie teases.

“You like this way too much, Eds,” Richie mutters.

Eddie kisses his forehead again, pressing Richie’s head to his heart. It’s nice to just hold Richie sometimes, to feel his breathing go slow and his fingers twitch as he cautiously loops too fingers into Eddie’s belt loops to hold on tight. He moves his thumb through Richie’s hair, feeling the way it parts along his scalp.

“You’re so soft,” Eddie says. “How is a trashmouth like you so soft?”

“When you do that to my hair my brain feels like a washing machine with a dime in it,” Richie manages.

Eddie snorts. “Good.”

**

They’re getting pretty good at this sex thing, Richie thinks. Or at least, Eddie is good at it, and Richie’s great at not panicking and jumping out of his skin the moment he feels Eddie’s hands on him.

But all of this has been mostly Eddie dragging Richie over every hurdle, and Richie wants to offer at least one suggestion. It’s one he’s been thinking about a lot - as much as he can anyway - and it feels a little like the finish line. Like he’s somehow reached some kind of sex acheivment trophy.

He ends up bringing it up by blurting it out before he can second guess himself, like he usually does, which means that at some point while Stan is out and Eddie’s scrubbing away at the dishes with his ridiculous yellow gloves, Richie all but shouts, “What are your thoughts on anal?” 

Eddie turns to look at him like he’s finally lost it. “What?”

“I’ve thought about,” Richie says, “about… It’s been. My thoughts.”

Every word out of his mouth while Eddie is still looking at him feels less connected to the last, his brain simply scrambling to do  _ something. _

“What are  _ your _ thoughts on anal sex?” Eddie asks.

This is truly the worst outcome. “I don’t know,” Richie manages. “I’ve…” He hasn’t really thought about the details, only that it’s probably the thing that feels most like what he pictures  _ sex _ to be, with the thrusting and slickness and  _ roles. _ “It just seems appropriately…” He thrusts his hips awkwardly in an attempt to communicate all this to Eddie.

Eddie’s look grows more exasperated. “Which of us would…” He copies Richie’s gesture.

“I didn’t get that far,” Richie mutters, staring at his hands.

Eddie sighs. “Hang on, let me finish the dishes or it’s going to bother me.”

Richie nods, and takes the time he spends finishing the dishes to try to calm down. This is the first thing Eddie has even considered saying no to, and Richie feels like he’s fucked something up so hard. 

Eddie sits down across from him, and the tension in Richie’s stomach snaps. “Actually, you know what, it’s fine,” he says. “Forget I brought it up.”

“No,” Eddie says, “this is like… literally the first time you’ve brought  _ anything _ like this up, I’m going to think it through.”

Richie buries his head in his hands. “What will it take for you to just forget about it?”

“I guess if neither of us likes it,” Eddie says, “then we’ll let it go, huh?”

Richie peeks at him through his fingers. “So which of us does…? Um…?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll… um…” 

Richie gawks at him, not sure which part Eddie is volunteering for and not sure which makes him feel more like a fork in a microwave.

“Take it up the ass,” Eddie chokes out, going red.

Richie wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. “Okay,” he says. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Eddie intones.

Stan chooses that point to walk in and pick up on the strange air between them. “Do I want to know?”

Eddie nearly blurts it out, because of course he does, but Richie manages to head him off with a sharp,  _ “No.” _

“Great,” Stan says. “Because I have an awful headache…”

“You need glasses,” Eddie blurts, “and also to be gone this weekend.”

Stan squints at him. “How gone?”

_ “Gone,”  _ Eddie says. “Stay with Ben and Bev for a few days.”

Stan moves to ask, then realizes he’ll probably get an answer and nods. “Okay, sure.” He squints at Eddie. “You think I need glasses? I see just fine.”

“You’re farsighted,” Eddie says. “You squint like Richie does when you do puzzles. Trust me, I do a lot of looking at Richie without his glasses.”

“Huh,” Stan says. “Well, the optometrist knows all of us by name anyway…” He sets his bag down and starts to dial. He waits for it to ring a few times, then says, “Hi Beverly, Eddie’s either killing or fucking Richie this weekend, can I stay for a few days?”

Richie slides under the table and covers his face until Eddie drags him out to kiss his cheeks until he stops fighting.

**

“Jesus, Eddie, you really… uh… prepared a lot for this,” Richie says, looking at a box of condoms.

“Well,” Eddie says, “I figure condoms will be useful whatever we decide, right? You can use them as dental dams and whatever…” 

Richie grabs a pair of gloves, awkwardly pulling it on. “Are these rubber?”

“Nitrile,” Eddie says. “Because oil-based lube dissolves latex.”

“How’d you even learn this shit?” Richie asks.

“I went to sex shop,” Eddie mutters.

Richie raises his brows, vaguely impressed.

“Actually, I went to ten,” Eddie says. “And then I went back to the one that was the most informative and gave me pamphlets.” 

“Uh-huh,” Richie says.

“And I lied and said you were my girlfriend, and I made up a fake name for you, and halfway through I forgot what it was, and then I realized no one had asked, but I still came up with a second one, but… never mind,” Eddie says. “The point is, I know everything I could find out about this stuff.”

“Should I have…” Richie says, realizing he’s the one who’s going to have to do stuff here. He suddenly very much does not feel good about this at all.

“The gist of it is go slow and use a lot of lube,” Eddie says. “Like more than what you think is a reasonable amount of lube.”

Richie nods numbly as Eddie spreads an absurd amount of towels over the bed.

“That should be enough, right?” Eddie asks. “I don’t want to scrub jizz or lube out of our mattress.” 

“Yeah,” Richie says, feeling slightly dizzy. “Sure.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, clearing his throat as he pushes his pants down.

Richie takes a moment to notice he needs to follow suit, but he does, kicking them away while Eddie crawls onto the bed and spreads his legs.

Richie takes the lube bottle and stares at it, not sure what order any of this goes in. He squirts lube all over his fingers until it’s dripping onto the towel. Does that seem like more than reasonable?

“Oh, God,” he mumbles to himself, then takes Eddie’s leg into his hand and moves it so he can lower his hand to Eddie’s hole. Suddenly this seems like a terrible idea, and Richie’s not at all sure he’ll make it through this without puking.

“Fuck!” Eddie yells, and sits up straight. “No. I can’t do this.”

Relief shoots through Richie like a lightning bolt. He’s sitting back and pulling off the dripping glove with jerky hands before Eddie can even explain himself.

“I can’t stop thinking about shitting,” Eddie says, “and how extremely unsanitary shit is.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, because his nervous breakdown isn’t as easy to hammer down and anyway, he’s not the one who opted out this time. “It’s fine, forget it.”

“You don’t want to try it the other way around?” Eddie asks.

Richie freezes. “Is that better?”

“I mean, I can see what’s happening,” Eddie says. “And deal with it as it comes.”

Richie swallows hard.

“Do you not want to?” Eddie asks, with that pinched look he gets when he’s frustrated but he really, really doesn’t want to be because he’s  _ trying _ to be fair.

“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” Richie manages. “If I ask you to put your ass on the line…” 

Eddie groans. “What do you  _ want,  _ Rich?”

Richie puts his hands on his knees and tries to think calmly. He’s not actually as petrified at the idea of letting Eddie do this stuff. He just doesn’t want the  _ responsibility. _ He nods. “Yeah, let’s try it.”

Eddie has stopped asking if he’s sure, because he knows it spooks Richie, but he does give him a long and hard stare. “Okay,” he says, eventually. “Sit.”

Richie crawls over so he can lay on his back, and Eddie moves so he’s sitting in front of Richie’s feet. He swallows, putting his hands on Richie’s shins and rubbing gently to calm him. “You have  _ so much _ leg,” he mutters, carefully cupping Richie’s knees and parting them.

“That’s a good thing, right?” Richie asks.

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. “A good thing.”

He coasts his hands up the inside of Richie’s thighs, and Richie squeals and whimpers as the sensitive skin has tingles running up his spine. 

Eddie freezes, then grins. “Oh?” he asks, spreading his fingers. “I guess I’m glad we kicked Stan out for the weekend.”

“You  _ suck,” _ Richie whines.

“No, I think you  _ more _ than earned this in middle school,” Eddie says. “I think  _ maybe _ if I get you to make that noise as many times as you’ve said you fucked my mom, we  _ still _ wouldn’t be even.”

“... I’m trying to count how many things I’ve done to piss you off in my life,” Richie says.

“Oh- _ ho _ , there’s a  _ lot,”  _ Eddie says, skimming his fingers over Richie’s thighs.

Richie feels like there’s something in his chest trying to break loose, and whatever it is, it’s moaning like a motherfucker. “In my defense I had a big crush on you and I wanted to get your attention,” Richie tries.

“Attention gotten,” Eddie says, thumbs sweeping over the area where Richie’s thigh meet his groin, and Richie nearly sobs. “How’s it feel?”

Richie throws his arms over his face. “You’re gonna kill me, Eds!”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie says.

“You’re trying to kill me, I can call you whatever I w--” He cuts off with a shriek, because there’s suddenly cold, sticky fluid pouring over his hole, and it’s certainly a sensation and a half.

He peeks at Eddie, who smiles. “Thought you might feel better if that was over with before you can get worked up about it,” he says, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Thanks,” Richie says. “And also, fuck you.”

“Fuck  _ you,” _ Eddie says, then hides his face in Richie’s knee, laughing and blushing at once. And shit, it’s so  _ cute. _ “I think I’m kind of turned on by the gloves.”

Richie snorts. “That’s gonna get a little awkward, Dr. K.”

Eddie reaches under his leg to slap what he can reach of his ass, and Richie blinks at him, a scandalized laugh breaking out of his mouth.

“Alright, shut up,” Eddie says, coating his fingers in lube. “I need to concentrate, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Richie opens his mouth to say some bullshit again, but Eddie sees it coming a mile away, because he pushes a finger inside Richie before he can get a word out, and Richie immediately forgets what he was saying, because he now has to figure out what he’s feeling.

He must be making an odd face, because Eddie freezes. “Is it bad?” he asks.

“I don’t know  _ what _ it is,” Richie says. It’s not painful, but it’s also not a particularly good sensation. It’s, frankly, nothing to write home about.

“Should I… not?” Eddie asks.

Richie shakes his head. “It’s honestly just… underwhelming, I guess.”

Everything else they’ve done has been like getting hit by a truck of all kinds of good and bad feelings. Honestly, if anal turned out to be boring, Richie wouldn’t be that disappointed.

“Okay,” Eddie says, and keeps moving.

The moving part of it is certainly bizarre, like eating a food with new texture. It’s a little gross, but Richie’s seen so much grosser, it’s really just absurd. And Eddie is all focused on him, and touching his knee, which more than makes up for the grossness of it.

“Hang on,” Eddie says, leaning his back against Richie’s leg and moving like he’s looking for something inside Richie.

“What are you  _ doing?” _ Richie asks, trying not to laugh.

“You ever heard of a prostate?” Eddie bites.

“Sure, I quiz you on anatomy all the time,” Richie says.

Eddie groans at him pointedly, and Richie tries to stay still despite how much he wants to laugh, because this is all deeply weird and there’s that furrow in Eddie’s brows that always gets Richie going.

“Oh,” Richie says, as Eddie strokes something that definitely feels like something.

“Good?” Eddie asks.

“Um,” Richie says. “Do it again?”

Eddie does.

“Well,” Richie says, “I can feel it. It’s like… like you’re pushing more than just that spot? I don’t know  _ what  _ to think about it.”

“Wait,” Eddie says, and pulls out, and that’s sort of awkward to feel. Richie makes a face, watching Eddie’s face as he coats his fingers again and then pushes against Richie’s hole again, this time with more fingers.

This time it stings a little, and Richie hisses. Eddie stops, watching Richie’s face closely.

“Slower,” Richie offers.

“Okay,” Eddie says, and pushes slower, rocking his fingers.

It feels different with more fingers. It feels like more, and Richie isn’t sure if that’s a sexual more or not. But it doesn’t feel worse, or bad. He does sort of hope that his brain decides how this feels sooner rather than later.

Eddie finds that spot again, and Richie can’t do much else other than cock his head, trying to figure out how it feels. It’s an all new sensation and it’s like Richie imagines seeing a color you’ve never seen before might be.

“Keep doing it,” he says, because it feels like it might just coalesce into something Richie can actually interpret soon. There’s a pressure building in his groin, and he thinks it’s good.

And then suddenly, he knows it’s good, and Eddie’s got a good rhythm, and his breath catches.

“What?” Eddie asks, so attuned to his every move it’s practically electric.

“It’s,” Richie says, and suddenly it’s so much harder to make words with his lungs, “good.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, perking up, and  _ oh, it’s really good. _

“Oh, fuck,” Richie says, letting his head fall back. “Yeah, it’s really…  _ Fuck.” _

Eddie reaches up with his free hand and gives his dick a good pump, and  _ wow, _ that really tips him over from a confused, hesitant enjoyment to a wild, burning need. He moans, and Eddie’s hand twitches around his length.

He’s not very coordinated doing both and Richie feels a little like everything is off rhythm, but it feels great anyway. 

“Shit, Richie,” Eddie breathes, and Richie realizes he’s making noises, low in his throat, needy and breathy, and Eddie always likes that.

The offbeat rhythm is getting too much, a twist on a building storm that he can’t quite handle, and Richie bats Eddie’s hand away from his dick, replacing it with his own so he can time the strokes with Eddie’s fingers inside him and get his thumb over the tip, touching the way  _ he _ likes.

It’s like kicking an already rattling wheel off its axis. Pleasure shoots through him, and he has to focus on keeping his hand slow so he doesn’t come right away, because he wants to ride this high as long as possible.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, then moans.  _ “Eddie.” _

“Yeah?” Eddie manages, but Richie’s too distracted by how much he feels, spreading through his body like a really, really pleasurable crawl of tar.

“Eddie, Eddie,  _ Eddie,” _ Richie breathes between moans before he’s cresting over that peak, making some kind of garbled noise he can’t make sense of. It’s harder than he’s ever come before, by far, and everything goes a little blurry, his ears ringing.

He hears Eddie get himself off, groaning loudly, like he’s underwater, chest heaving as he tries to breathe, and then Eddie’s collapsing next to him, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “That was good, right?” Eddie asks him, and it’s all Richie can do to nod. There are tears dripping down his face, but he couldn’t care less.

Eddie takes the gloves off with practiced motions and straddles him to wipe the tears away with his thumbs. “Shit,” he breathes, and Richie doesn’t know how he can talk so soon when Richie’s still trying to get some oxygen to his addled brain. “Shit, that was so hot, you  _ sounded…” _

Richie manages to nod again. “So that’s what that’s about,” he slurs.

“Did you like it?” Eddie asks, looking hungry like he’s ready to go another round  _ right now. _

“How many days ‘for Stan gets back?” Richie asks.

“He says he’ll be back Monday evening,” Eddie says, so overwhelmingly eager.

“Gimme a… gimme a few hours,” Richie says, because he wants this again, as many times as they can before Stan is back, because Richie doesn’t know how he’ll stay quiet if they start getting good at this.

_ “Fuck,”  _ Eddie hisses. “Can I kiss you?”

Richie swallows, his throat dry, and nods.

Eddie descends on him like a man drowning, and Richie wonders, vaguely, if he’ll make it until Stan gets home.

_ Ah well, _ he thinks. Eddie knows plenty of doctor stuff now and Stan’s smart enough to figure out how to hide a body.

**

“C’mon, Eddie, we have our yearly meet up in less than a month. I have to prove to the others that I didn’t let either of you die for another year,” Stan says as he comes in the door, throwing his bag on the floor so he can jokingly pick Richie’s arm up and let it drop like a wet noodle.

Richie makes an attempt at mumbling at him, but Eddie just scrapes the tips of his fingers against the nape of his neck and Richie trails off.

“He’s alive,” Eddie says, glancing down at Richie teasingly. Richie gives him a glare in response, but he doesn’t move. “Mostly.”

“You broke him,” Stan complains.

“He’s working well enough that we can pull this off Weekend at Bernie’s style,” Eddie says. “How was it staying at Ben and Beverly’s?”

“Great,” Stan says. “They have sex quietly, behind closed doors. It’s spectacular.”

“Bad news about the quiet…” Richie mumbles.

“I’ll get earplugs if you tell me  _ nothing _ else,” Stan says.

“I mean, you see the results before you,” Eddie says. He’s laying on the couch on his back, feet up on the armrest. Richie is sprawled on top of him, head in the crook of Eddie’s shoulder, limbs arranged in a mess so he actually fits on the couch despite his height, and he looks a bit like he’s been melted and poured out of a pitcher onto Eddie. He’s also wearing Eddie’s sweater, and it looks so soft on him.

“I do,” Stan says, sitting down on the floor in front of the couch to join them in watching the weird reality TV show they’d landed on while only halfway paying attention to their channel surfing amidst making out until Richie dropped. “Richie, I realize this probably going to take all the brain power you have left, but can you tell Bill that I did my best to keep Eddie from breaking you?”

“Who are you?” Richie asks. “Where am I?”

“He’s gone forever,” Stan declares.

Eddie grins. “Don’t worry,  _ I’ll _ tell the others you did your best.”

Stan snorts and pokes Richie on the nose. “Beep beep, Richie.”

Richie glares at him. “Blow me, Stanley.”

“Oh, no, he’s back,” Stan says. “Break him again, I like him better that way.”

Eddie worms his fingers into Richie’s hair and scratches his scalp like he’s petting a cat, and Richie hides his face in Eddie’s chest with a small noise.

“There you go,” Eddie says. “Peace and quiet, whenever you want it.”

Stan grins and high-fives him. “Oh, yeah, Bev says mazel tov, Richie.”

“I know exactly how she said it and I’m going to come up with a devastating comeback as soon as I can string two thoughts together inside my brain,” Richie says into Eddie’s shirt.

“Oh, Rich,” Eddie says. “That’s never gonna happen again.”

Richie flips him off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't the point of the fic but i just wanna say stan roasts them nonstop and complains about their various antics, but the entire losers club eventually have to force him to leave the apartment when he's like 30 bc he's getting married soon and he can't live with them forever and he only allows it bc they agree to continue living in the same neighborhood as him


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops i accidentally wrote more for this fic. i could have made it another fic, but it felt like a natural conclusion to this one, so i guess here we are
> 
> mild warning for talk of how genuinely gross anal sex is when you think about it too hard, because while i'm not on eddie's level, i too am a germaphobe and i have, in fact, thought about it too hard and i can't just not mention it

“Are you sure about this?” Richie asks.

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Sure. Yeah. Yes.”

“When you think about it, you’re more likely to get shit on your dick going to the bathroom,” Richie says. “On account of the spla—“

Eddie wrenches his head back with a tight hand in his hair. “You being even moderately coherent during sex is a real turnoff, you know that?” he mutters, nibbling at the back of Richie’s neck.

Richie shudders. “Guess you’re… just gonna… have to shut me up, huh?” he manages, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

Eddie’s chest goes warm and gooey for a moment. Richie’s just as nervous as ever, and yet he’s being an idiot to calm Eddie down. Eddie presses his forehead between Richie’s shoulder blades, trying to chase away all the nightmare scenarios.

The concept of his dick going in places that are… well, _disgusting,_ frankly is only step one of his nightmare. He made Richie wash thoroughly and he’s wearing a condom and while his skin crawls a little at the concept, he knows that the sexual part of it will make up for it when he’s actually got a rhythm going.

But he keeps thinking of tearing and infections and _hurting Richie_ and that’s just _terrifying._

“Really, really tell me if anything hurts, okay?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah,” Richie says. “I will.”

The fact that he was almost relieved to find out that Eddie was only dragging his feet over this because he might hurt Richie makes Eddie want to strangle him, but at least it means Eddie doesn’t have to calm himself _and_ Richie while they do this.

“Okay, God, fuck, okay,” Eddie says, and then doesn’t do anything.

“Stan’s gonna be so mad if he has to take us to the emergency room because you broke my ass,” Richie whispers.

_“Shut up,”_ Eddie hisses at him. He pushes his hips up, then realizes this is a lot more complicated physically than it appears to be in porn. He fumbles, head butting Richie in the ribs as he reaches down to guide his dick into place.

He’s glad he left one glove on, even though it means he’s been awkwardly holding his hand so he doesn’t get any gross fluids all over the bed with it – and yes, he does know that’s what the towels are for, but it’s _gross_ and Eddie’s the one who does laundry and he’ll just _know_ – because he has to press a finger to Richie’s hole while gripping his dick with the other fingers and maneuver with a flagging erection until the tip is inside.

Richie hisses sharply.

“Is that… um…?” Eddie says, freezing. _Do not think about rectal tears, do not think about rectal tears…_ He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks about what Richie’s face looks like when Eddie fingers him. Yeah, that’s good. Richie loves getting fingered and there has never been any blood. Richie has been 100% fine during any and all instances of fingering between them, and Eddie’s dick is not that much bigger than three of his fingers.

“Keep going,” Richie breathes, trying very hard to keep his voice teasing instead of shaky.

Eddie appreciates it. He pushes in, pressing the back of his wrist against Richie’s belly to keep him steady without letting any of the gross parts of the glove touch him.

“Fuck,” Richie says, and Eddie swallows.

He’s going so slowly, the pressure and heat around his dick creeps up on him, lapping up his spine inch by grueling inch.

Richie chokes, breathing harsh as Eddie slowly, _so_ slowly bottoms out. “Oh, fuck, fuck, stop,” Richie whines. “Don’t move, Jesus fucking Christ don’t move.”

Eddie goes still. “Does it hurt?”

Richie shakes his head, and Eddie tries to relax, using the pause to tear off the glove finally so he can run his fingers up Richie’s chest.

Richie makes a noise like all the air has been punched out of his lungs and slaps Eddie’s hand away. “Stop, stop, just… for a second…” He twists around to press his face into the pillows, and Eddie stays very still, hands up.

“You okay?” Eddie asks.

“There’s a dick inside me,” Richie manages, halfway into the pillow. “There’s a _dick_ inside… A _dick…!”_

“Stop saying dick,” Eddie snaps.

Richie lets out a noise between a sob and a giggle. “Oh, fuck, though. Oh _fuck.”_

“Is that a good ‘fuck’?” Eddie asks.

“Hell yeah you are,” Richie says, snorting and wheezing himself through a laugh that’s strangled by the fact that he’s crying.

Eddie swallows, his throat dry. It’s so hot around his dick and the longer they lay here, the more obvious it is that he can’t quite stay still. Small bouts of friction from their breathing and Richie’s occasional fidgeting tickle at his – _pickle, _his mind volunteers, because he’s _fucking_ Richie fucking Tozier and it’s impossible not to think about it.

He brings his hand back to Richie’s belly, smoothing it over the soft skin there. As tall and gangly as he is, Richie has an adorable layer of pudge on his belly, and Eddie loves to stroke his fingers over it. Richie squirms under the touch, breathes coming out in a small whine.

His squirming shoots straight up Eddie’s dick as his hips roll against Eddie’s.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispers, pushing his face into Richie’s back. “I gotta move, man, I’m…”

Richie swallows loudly, nodding vigorously enough that Eddie can feel it against his forehead. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead and… and f…” He trails off, throat clearly even drier than Eddie’s. He whimpers. “F-Fuck… um…”

“Fuck you?” Eddie offers.

“Mhmm,” Richie manages, voice cracking.

“Can’t say it?”

“Nope.”

“That’s the repressed moron I came here to fuck,” Eddie teases, and rolls his hips experimentally. It’s not good, per se, kind of at the wrong angle and not really working with the friction, but it has Richie’s walls rubbing against his dick, and Eddie’s _so_ unbelievably hard.

_“Oh,”_ Richie wheezes.

Eddie shifts, sliding his hand a little further down Richie’s chest to pin his hips right, and rolls his hips again with more attention put into the angle. This time it’s a lot better on his cock, gliding against him like a tight, _tight_ fist that can swallow his dick whole.

Richie lets out a wild _mmmmm_ and drops his head to the pillows, propping himself up on an elbow in an effort to let himself breathe.

“Wait,” Eddie says. “Have I uh… have I hit your prostate yet?”

Richie shakes his head.

“Okay, uh…” He shifts so he’s a little steadier and _fuck_ they have way too many limbs for this, and thrusts again. “Tell me when.”

“Yeah,” Richie chokes out, gripping the sheets and groaning as Eddie plunges in again.

Richie is so _hot_ inside, and tight, too, squeezing around Eddie randomly. Eddie doesn’t know how long he’ll last. He takes deep breaths, trying to keep himself steady as he experiments with shoving his legs between Richie’s legs to try to get the angle right.

Richie gasps and whimpers every time he moves, and Eddie feels tingles racing up his spine with every noise. He doesn’t know what feels better, the friction on his dick or just Richie making those damn noises.

_“There!”_ Richie yelps suddenly, and Eddie pauses, unsure he can replicate the same thrust. He tries again, and Richie shakes his head. Eddie adjusts his grip on Richie’s hip and tries to do the mental math about where his dick probably landed, and tries again. “Oh!” Richie takes a shaky breath in. “Yeah, that’s…” Eddie does it again, and Richie moans around where he’s chewing on his bottom lip. “There, that’s good.”

“Yeah?” Eddie says, hungry for Richie to be as vocal as he can be in every possible way.

“Y-Yeah-_ha, _yeah,” Richie groans as Eddie thrusts again and again. “You’re n-not getting it every time, but…”

“But it’s good?” Eddie prompts.

“Really good,” Richie mumbles, elbow buckling as Eddie’s pace picks up.

Eddie moans, shuffling closer so that he can feel Richie’s soft moans against his chest, shaking the pleasure up through his spine.

Richie reaches down to jerk himself off and moans, loud, throwing his head back. Eddie scrambles to get his hand up into Richie’s hair, pulling so Richie’s forced to arch his back, and Richie squeezes around him hard enough to make him see stars as a result.

The shift in Richie’s position has the angle slightly off, but Eddie thrusts a few times this way just to chase that feeling. Richie strokes himself slowly, taking sharp breaths with each thrust.

Eddie shifts, shaking his head to clear it before slinging one of Richie’s legs over his own and trying to get the angle right again. This time, Richie doesn’t so much tell him as cry out when he gets it right, and it’s already a little easier to keep making the same motion again.

He’s definitely going to feel this in muscles he didn’t know he had tomorrow, but for now the way Richie yelps and arches against him sends an energy surging through him that makes him feel like he could probably lift Richie over his head.

Richie’s hand speeds up and he’s moaning, “Yeah, yeah, _yeah, Eddie!”_ and then he’s kicking against the bed and moaning loudly as he comes.

He goes limp a moment later, and Eddie is still very, very hard inside him.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Okay, let me just…”

He moves to pull out, but Richie bats at him wildly, shaking his head while he tries to catch his breath. “Stay,” he grits out. “Just… give me a… give me a second, I’m… Just stay.”

Eddie blinks at him, then goes hot. “You want to keep going?”

Richie nods, breathless. “Want more,” he explains, throat working as he tries to breathe. “I always want more of you.”

“Jesus _Christ,”_ Eddie hisses, pressing hungry, open mouthed kisses to Richie’s back. “You’re so fucking sexy, you’re seriously…”

“Wait,” Richie mumbles, trying to get back up on his elbow. “I’m shaking so hard, dude, I’m…”

“Don’t call me dude during sex,” Eddie gripes.

“Okay, Eddie Spaghetti, you’re going to have to put me on my stomach.”

Eddie groans into his back. “I can’t believe you managed to ruin something so hot with your personality,” he mutters. “What the fuck, Richie, what the _fuck?”_

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, but can we… Seriously, I’m…” He cuts off, swallowing. “I’m just going to… You have to move with me.”

Eddie nods, rolling with Richie until Richie’s flat on his stomach, legs spread, and Eddie’s on his knees, leaning over him. Richie’s sharp elbows flail around him, trying to get under himself to put a hand around his cock, but Eddie pushes them away, replacing it with his own hand. “I got it.”

“Okay,” Richie says shakily. Eddie runs a thumb over the head. “Ooh, fuck, that’s… that’s a lot.”

“Can I… Can I fuck you now?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know, can you?” Richie challenges.

Eddie rolls his eyes and thrusts hard. It’s sort of like humping a pillow like he did when he was thirteen, except now the pillow squeezes around him like a vice and lets out a strangled noise that jolts through Eddie’s entire body.

He puts slightly less effort into finding Richie’s prostate now that he’s already finished once, and more into chasing his own orgasm, but he knows when he hits it because Richie’s hand hits the headboard and he grinds into Eddie’s hand with a yell.

Eddie doesn’t know how to go fast with the awkward way he’s poised over Richie, but he does know how to go _hard_ and he doesn’t have much of a choice when Richie is whining and twitching under him. He snaps his hips into Richie’s and relishes the way Richie starts calling his name like it’s the only word he can remember.

His thighs flex and fuck, he’s spilling over Eddie’s hand again, and Eddie’s too close to stop again. He pulls his hands out from under Richie and presses it into the bed so he can fuck into Richie without pause. Richie cries out, muffled by the pillows, and every inch of Eddie’s skin feels hot.

And then he’s coming, rhythm faltering as he spills into the condom, hot and sticky and a little gross. Weirdly, he thinks it might be gross in a _good_ way.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, rolling his hips one more time as his dick jerks through the last of it.

He pulls out, and Richie jolts, then moans.

“Was that…?”

“One more,” Richie chokes out.

“What?” Eddie manages, freezing as he ties the condom, because there’s _no goddamn way._ He’s spent the past few months just trying to get Richie to feel comfortable coming in front of Eddie and there’s no way he’s going to get to watch three times in a row. There’s no way Richie can even come again so soon.

Richie humps the bed, nodding feverishly. “Yeah, come on, please, one more, with your fingers, whatever, just…”

His hands flex against the covers as he sniffles, harsh breathing turning into a small mewl as he grinds his dick against the bed.

“Holy shit,” Eddie manages, and hurries to get a glove on and lube up his fingers. He rolls Richie over onto his back and takes in his flushed cheeks and teary, glazed eyes and the way his hair is all mussed up and sticking to his sweaty forehead. “I want to see you.”

“Fine, whatever, just,” Richie chokes out, sobbing. “Just please, _please, Eddie,_ I need you inside me, I need it.”

Eddie shivers with a thick pleasure, nodding before getting two fingers inside Richie with ease. “Yeah, I got you, Rich, I got you.”

Richie whimpers in relief like Eddie’s fingers are a breath of fresh air to a man drowning. It’s a lot easier to find his prostate with Eddie’s fingers, and he immediately presses against it.

Richie _shrieks,_ getting his hand around his dick. He’s usually surprisingly adept with his hands, knowing all the right places to touch, but now his fist is just flying over his dick blindly.

“Wait,” Eddie says.

“No, no, _God,_ _please,”_ Richie pleads, but Eddie gently pulls his hand away and squeezes some lube into his palm. Richie gasps and twitches, hand flying back to his cock the moment Eddie lets him. “Please keep going, please, please, I’m so close.”

There’s no way he’s close, but Eddie continues curling his fingers, watching as Richie squirms and shakes under him, head lolling every time he gets a little closer. It’s captivating, the hottest thing Eddie has ever seen. Richie’s whole body is taut with need and want, and Eddie’s practically drooling over it.

“Fuck,” Eddie mutters. “You should see yourself, Rich, you’re so fucking beautiful. You’re gorgeous falling apart like this.”

Richie lets out a guttural noise of sheer desperation, mouth falling into a perfect ‘o’ as his toes curl and he finally fucking tips over the edge. He doesn’t even have any cum left, just a small, pathetic squirt as he shivers and mewls his way over the finish line, Eddie’s fingers fucking into him until he goes limp.

Eddie pulls his hand away, getting the glove off and putting his hands on Richie’s quivering knees while Richie sobs and gasps and tries to pull himself together.

“That was…” Eddie breathes. “Was that good?”

Richie sniffles and nods. “I think my dick hurts.”

“Is that…?” Eddie tries. “That doesn’t sound great.”

“No, it’s good, it’s good,” Richie says, nearly weeping. “It’s a good hurt. Fuck.”

Eddie slides his hand against Richie’s leg and Richie shoots up like he’s been electrocuted to slap his hand away. “God, no, no, my skin is on _fire, _Eds,” Richie wheezes.

Eddie tries to be considerate, he really does, but it’s too easy to lick Richie’s knee and take deep pleasure in the way he kicks and whines. He grins, gently resting his head on Richie’s knee while Richie keeps his hands up, fingers spread and waiting for Eddie to make another move. “You looked… you looked… _fuck,”_ Eddie says.

Richie manages a breathless laugh. “You liked it too?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. _“Yeah,_ I fucking liked it.”

Richie sniffles, wiping at his nose, letting out a slow breath. He still cries after sex but the amount of time it takes him to go back to being _Richie_ is shorter and shorter. “I think I blacked out a little.”

“That shouldn’t be so goddamn hot,” Eddie mutters. “Why is that so goddamn hot?”

“I guess it’s kind of impressive to be able to fuck your boyfriend into oblivion,” Richie offers.

“Did I do that?” Eddie asks, not bothering to hide the eagerness of his question.

“Yeah, I think I was legally brain dead for a few seconds there,” Richie teases, though he’s still swallowing and shaking. “You killed and revived me with your dick.”

“You begged,” Eddie breathes. “You fucking _begged.”_

“It’s occurring to me that you’re a very small, angry man,” Richie murmurs. “And I’ve shown you a whole new world of power.”

“I’m a perfectly average height,” Eddie said. “And I’m going to destroy you.”

“Hm,” Richie says, and then, despite his shaking hands, wipes the cum on his hand onto Eddie’s face. “Promise?”

“You. Are so. Goddamn. _Dead,”_ Eddie hisses.

Richie grins at him. “Yeah, what are you gonna do, Spaghetti man?”

“I’m going to spank your dumb ass and then fuck you until you beg is what I’m gonna do,” Eddie blurts.

Richie goes red, and Eddie is pretty sure he does too.

“N-Next time,” Eddie says. “Maybe.”

“Slow down there cowboy,” Richie croaked. “Stan’s not gonna want to help you hide a dead body any time soon, he has finals.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie mutters. “You’re the one who’s aggravating me!”

“Sorry,” Richie says, “lemme clean that up for you.” He licks a stripe up Eddie’s cheek where he’d wiped his hand. Eddie gags, and Richie starts laughing.

“Let’s just go shower so I can cuddle you into silence, fuckface,” Eddie says.

“But I’m handling this so well, aren’t you proud of me?” Richie purrs.

Eddie tugs his hair, gripping tight enough that Richie squirms, and drags him into his arms. “That’s enough out of you,” he murmurs. Richie goes gooey in his arms, letting Eddie comb his fingers against his scalp. Eddie finds himself very comforted that Richie still is so weak to having his hair played with – he’s not as scared, lately, he just _likes_ it. A _lot._

“Mmmmkay,” Richie slurs.

“Come on, we’re showering,” Eddie says. “And if you get through it without being a pain in the butt, after I’ll keep playing with your hair.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Eds,” Richie mumbles. “But okay. If you do the thing at the back of my head that feels nice.”

Eddie kisses his forehead and scratches the top of Richie’s neck. “Okay. And yeah, I am proud of you.”

Richie turns his face into Eddie’s shoulder and whines about compliments like that without a warning for a full minute, but Eddie doesn’t regret a goddamn thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay now i genuinely think i'm done with this fic and any further smut ideas will have to be a new fic, i guess

**Author's Note:**

> Hi please come ask me on Tumblr about Richie, Eddie and Stan living together because for every sexual thought I have about these two fumbling idiots trying to be a couple, I have 50 about them being Best Buds with their Extremely Not Dead Pal Stanley.


End file.
